A Muslim Conspiracy in British India? Politics and Paranoia in the Early Nineteenth-Century Deccan [Hardcover ed.] 1107196256, 9781107196254

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A Muslim Conspiracy in British India? Politics and Paranoia in the Early Nineteenth-Century Deccan [Hardcover ed.]
 1107196256, 9781107196254

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A MUSLIM CONSPIRACY IN BRITISH INDIA?

As the British prepared for war in Afghanistan in 1839, rumors spread of a Muslim conspiracy based in India’s Deccan region. Colonial officials were convinced that itinerant preachers of jihad whom they labeled “Wahhabis” were collaborating with Russian and Persian armies and inspiring Muslim princes to revolt. Officials detained and interrogated Muslim travelers, conducted weapons inspections at princely forts, surveyed mosques, and ultimately annexed territories of the accused. Using untapped archival materials, Chandra Mallam palli describes how local intrigues, often having little to do with “religion,” manufactured belief in a global conspiracy against British rule. By skillfully narrating stories of the alleged conspirators, he shows how fears of the dreaded Wahhabi sometimes prompted colonial authorities to act on thin evidence, while also inspiring plots by Muslims against princes not of their liking. At stake were not only questions about Muslim loyalty but also the very ideals of a liberal empire. chandra mallampalli is Professor of History at Westmont College, USA. He has written extensively on the intersection of religion, law, and society in colonial India. His books include Race, Religion and Law in Colonial India (Cambridge University Press, 2011).

A MUSLIM CONSPIRACY IN BRITISH INDIA? Politics and Paranoia in the Early Nineteenth-Century Deccan

CHANDRA MALLAMPALLI Westmont College

University Printing House, Cambridge cb2 8bs, United Kingdom One Liberty Plaza, 20th Floor, New York, ny 10006, USA 477 Williamstown Road, Port Melbourne, vic 3207, Australia 4843/24, 2nd Floor, Ansari Road, Daryaganj, Delhi – 110002, India 79 Anson Road, #06–04/06, Singapore 079906 Cambridge University Press is part of the University of Cambridge. It furthers the University’s mission by disseminating knowledge in the pursuit of education, learning, and research at the highest international levels of excellence. www.cambridge.org Information on this title: www.cambridge.org/9781107196254 doi: 10.1017/9781108164634 © Chandra Mallampalli 2017 This publication is in copyright. Subject to statutory exception and to the provisions of relevant collective licensing agreements, no reproduction of any part may take place without the written permission of Cambridge University Press. First published 2017 Printed in the United Kingdom by Clays, St Ives plc A catalogue record for this publication is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data names: Mallampalli, Chandra, 1965- author. title: A Muslim conspiracy in British India? : politics and paranoia in the early nineteenth-century Deccan / Chandra Mallampalli. description: Cambridge, United Kingdom ; New York, NY : Cambridge University Press, 2017. | Includes bibliographical references and index. identifiers: lccn 2017008319 | isbn 9781107196254 (Hardback) subjects: lcsh: Muslims–India–Deccan–History–19th century. | Deccan (India)– Ethnic relations–History–19th century. | Deccan (India)–Politics and government–19th century. | Paranoia–Political aspects–India–Deccan– History–19th century. | Conspiracies–India–Deccan–History–19th century. | Allegiance–India–Deccan–History–19th century. | India–History– British occupation, 1765-1947. | BISAC: HISTORY / Asia / India & South Asia. classification: lcc ds485.d25 m35 2017 | ddc 954/.80314–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017008319 isbn 978-1-107-19625-4 Hardback Cambridge University Press has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

For refugees, migrants, and displaced peoples

Contents

Figures and Maps Acknowledgments

page viii ix

Introduction

1

1 The Fear of Itinerant Muslims

28

2 Prince Mubariz ud-Daula

66

3 A Fondness for Military Display

106

4 A Diamond in the Trough

142

5 Slaying Men with Faces of Women

178

Conclusions

216

Bibliography Index

224 235

vii

Figures and Maps

Figures Figure 1 Raja Chandulal, Minister of the Nizam of Hyderabad, 1809–43 Figure 2 James Stuart Fraser (1783–1869) Figure 3 The British Residency at Hyderabad Figure 4 View of Trichinopoly, British Library

page 58 85 101 137

Maps Map 1 Map of colonial India, which includes key nodes of the alleged conspiracy Map 2 Map of India, Central Asia and Arabia, depicting journeys of migrants to the Deccan

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page 5 38

Acknowledgments

I arrived at the topic of this book while conducting research in 2007 at the Tamil Nadu State Archives in Chennai. There I encountered documents describing the East India Company’s confrontation with Ghulam Rasul Khan, the last Nawab of Kurnool (r. 1824–39). The Company accused him of amassing weapons in his fort with the intention of launching a rebellion. At the time, I thought this would make an interesting article. Parts of the Kurnool story even worked their way into my last book. Years later, at the Oriental and India Office Collection at the British Library, I found material that situated Kurnool within the investigation of an alleged conspiracy. The investigation was largely centered on the years 1839–40, which mark the early stages of the First Anglo-Afghan War. Subsequent visits to archives at Delhi, Hyderabad, and Chennai helped me learn about the transnational and local contexts that shaped the events described in this book. This project kept me within the familiar terrain of religion, law, and society in South Asia, but took me more deeply into the study of Indian Islam and Muslim reformism. I grew indebted to the contributions of many scholars, including Mohiuddin Ahmad, Qeyamuddin Ahmad, Richard Eaton, Marc Gaborieau, Nile Green, Peter Hardy, Marcia Hermansen, Ayesha Jalal, Omar Khalidi, Ira Lapidus, Barbara Daly Metcalf, Filippo and Caroline Osella, Harlan Pearson, Claudia Preckel, and Francis Robinson. I must extend my sincerest thanks to colleagues who shared their expertise and precious time as they fielded questions, read chapters, and shared resources in support of this project. Marc Gaborieau and Prasannan Parthasarathi kindly read through a draft of the manuscript and offered incisive comments on the chapters. Gaborieau’s work on South Asian Wahhabis shaped my thinking, especially as I examined the movement of Sayyid Ahmad Barelvi in relation to events in the Deccan. Benjamin Cohen and Benjamin Hopkins read initial drafts of the early chapters. ix

x

Acknowledgments

Cohen, a dedicated scholar of colonial Hyderabad, kindly shared materials he had collected during his own research. Conversations with Benjamin Hopkins helped acquaint me with the politics of Afghanistan during this period, as did his fine scholarship. Others who assisted me by reading individual chapters or through conversations include Nile Green, Munis Faruqui, and Derek Peterson. Comments from the anonymous readers for Cambridge University Press and the constant support of Lucy Rhymer were vital to the production of this book. In 2015, I organized a panel on South Asian Wahhabis at the University of Wisconsin–Madison’s Annual Conference on South Asia. Sylvia Vatuk and Julie Stephens were co-panelists and Karen Leonard the discussant. Conversations with Sylvia Vatuk over the years have greatly enriched my understanding of Muslim reformers in South India. Conversations with Julie Stephens about Wahhabis and her impressive work on Muslim reformers in North India were highly informative. At various points in the research process, Karen Leonard offered helpful feedback, drawing on her expertise on the history of Hyderabad. I am particularly thankful to Leonard for introducing me to Raghu Chidambi, an independent scholar who is passionately invested in Hyderabad’s history and who generously assisted me with various tasks while in Hyderabad. Chidambi introduced me to Illyas Hashmi Syed and Mir Fazaluddin Ali Khan, two individuals who translated Urdu and Persian materials that were valuable to my research. Hannah Archambault also assisted me with Persian translation. Others who assisted me while in Hyderabad are Sarada and Prem Kumar Chiruvolu (my sister and brother-in-law) and Rajagopal Vakulabharanam of Central University. Several individuals deserve my thanks for assisting me in connection to my 2010 visit to Kurnool. An M.Phil. student at Central University, Hyderabad, V. Raj Muhammad, offered valuable assistance. Syed Moosa Miah was most helpful in guiding me to the various sites in Kurnool discussed in my chapter on Kurnool. I am also grateful to Anees ul-Mulk and his grandson Owais Khan, descendants of the last ruling family of Kurnool, for their kind assistance in reconstructing the family history. I must also thank a number of people who invited me to present my research at various seminars. These include Joya Chatterji, for the Cambridge Center for South Asian Studies; Scott Levi, for the Ohio State University’s Sawyer Seminar; Alka Patel, for the University of California Irvine’s Asia Access Seminar; and Joy Pachuau, who arranged my seminar presentation at Jawaharlal Nehru University’s Center for Historical Studies. At each of these venues, I received valuable feedback that guided

Acknowledgments

xi

my research and shaped the arguments of this book. Others I must thank include the archival staff at the Tamil Nadu State Archives, Andhra Pradesh State Archives and Research Institute, National Archives of India, and British Library’s Asian and African Studies Reading Room. My colleagues in the History Department at Westmont College deserve my sincerest thanks for their support and encouragement: Alister Chapman, Heather Keaney, Monica Orozco, Richard Pointer, and Marianne Robins. Heather Keaney and Jim Wright assisted me with the transliteration of Arabic names. Lisa DeBoer provided helpful input on the title. Student workers such as Matt Browne and Kyndal Vogt helped with many odds and ends. My project was funded by a sabbatical grant from Westmont College and discretionary funds made available by the offices of the provost and the president. For this support I am most grateful. My wife, Beverly, was a true hero during the research and crafting of this book – patient, encouraging, and tolerant of my idiosyncrasies, which tend to become more pronounced during the writing process.

Introduction

In recent years, political regimes with constitutions as wide ranging as the United States, Great Britain, France, and India have been prosecuting their respective wars on terror. As they contend with extremist violence within their borders, their citizens are staging spirited debates about the proper limits of state power, whether legal, constitutional, or ethical. Questions concerning access to information vs. privacy, the role of special courts to try terror suspects, and the policing of certain classes of people are hotly contested topics. Whereas the terms of these debates vary according to context, a recurring question being raised is whether states are committing their own crimes in their very attempts to prevent or investigate instances of mass violence. As vast resources continue to be devoted to the war on terror, it is easy to lose sight of a deeper history in which modern empires grappled with similar kinds of choices. It was not uncommon for imperial rulers to set aside their own notions of justice when confronting threats to their sovereignty. Some of the procedures adopted by states to extract information from today’s terror suspects resemble methods of detention and interrogation employed by colonial officials in early nineteenth-century India.1 To effectively thwart rebellion, the colonial state also deployed an elaborate “information order,” which enabled them to monitor sections of Indian society that were likely to rebel.2 Access to the colonial archive, the paper trail of empire, allows us to examine how the British responded to

1

2

See, for instance, Malcolm Lewin, Is the Practice of Torture in Madras, with the Sanction of the Authorities of Leadenhall Street? (Westminster: Thomas Brettell, 1856). Lewin’s ideas are discussed in Chapter 5. C.A. Bayly develops the notion of a colonial “information order” in his pathbreaking study of formal and informal networks of communication deployed by the British Raj in India. See C.A. Bayly, Empire and Information: Intelligence Gathering and Social Communication in India, 1780–1870 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996).

1

2

Introduction

subversive elements within their dominions in light of their cherished belief in the rule of law. In his provocative essay Fear of Small Numbers, Arjun Appadurai describes how modern security regimes feel uniquely threatened by itinerant peoples, an insight carrying unique relevance for Muslim migrants. Crossing borders to make contact with their co-religionists, Muslims can evoke the “specter of conspiracy, of the cell, the spy, the traitor, the dissident, or the revolutionary.”3 A new “cellular” order marked by unmanageable flows of people, information, ideology, and capital across transnational networks, Appadurai contends, now subverts the order of the nation-state.4 Anxiety and insecurity arising from these developments make Muslim migrants prime targets of suspicion and prejudice. Such concerns about Muslim itinerancy find compelling precedents in the age of empire. During the early nineteenth century, imperial rulers became more inclined to question the loyalty of Muslims on account of their global connections and convictions. In their efforts to police Muslims, East India Company (hereafter, the Company) officials weighed matters of due process for the accused against the demands of protecting the state against the threat of jihad. In the process, they pushed the limits of liberal imperial values to their capacity. Using untapped records of the colonial archive, this book draws attention to a particular context in early nineteenth-century India when British rulers found themselves uniquely threatened by the mobility, networking capacity, and convictions of Muslims. It was a context that linked the affairs of the Middle East, Central Asia, and India and one that yielded complex plots and unexpected outcomes.

Distant Threats, Local Schemes During the 1830s, the Afghan region became a theater of confrontation between rival empires, most notably the Russians and the British. As this Great Game unfolded, Tsarist Russia supported the Persians in their 1837 attack on the Central Asian city of Herat. The advancement of a Persian army into a region so near to British India’s northwest frontier was more than what Lord Auckland, the Governor General of India, could tolerate. It raised the specter of Russian encroachment and turned the 3 4

Arjun Appadurai, Fear of Small Numbers: An Essay on the Geography of Anger (Durham: Duke University Press, 2006), 62. Ibid, 25–31.

Distant Threats, Local Schemes

3

Afghan region into one of utmost strategic importance. Determined to secure India’s northwest frontier from any advances by its archrival, Auckland initiated a series of interventions in Afghanistan, which culminated in the First Anglo-Afghan War (1839–42).5 As they committed resources to Afghanistan in the years leading up to this war, the British developed a new sense of vulnerability in India. Rumors of a Muslim uprising began to circulate not only within the ranks of the colonial administration but also among traders, mercenaries, and bazaar workers across well-established paths of commerce and migration. These rumors prompted a massive investigation by officials of the ruling Company. Curiously, the investigation was centered on that region of south, central India known as the Deccan.6 Why the Deccan and not cities of the north with heavy Muslim populations and in closer proximity to Afghanistan? Eighteen years later, after all, the British would face what was arguably the most momentous challenge to its nineteenth-century Empire. The 1857 Rebellion began as a mutiny among Indian soldiers in the North Indian town of Meerut, but soon spread to Delhi, Lucknow, Kanpur, and other regions of the north.7 The investigation of this potential uprising, however, was largely centered on the princely state of Hyderabad and neighboring districts of the south. As such, it gained the cooperation of officials from both British and princely ruled territories.8 John Elphinstone, the Governor of Madras, and James Fraser, the British Resident at Hyderabad, alerted local authorities to “suspicious foreigners” disguised as holy men who were spreading disaffection toward the Company, especially among Muslim princes and soldiers. Traveling from places such as Kabul, Baghdad, or Mecca, these “emissaries” (as they also had referred to them) identified each other by wearing copper rings and amulets. The amulets contained cryptic messages, penned either in 5

6

7 8

A detailed account of events surrounding this war, including the politics centered on the Barakzai ruler Dost Muhammad Khan, the Company-backed Sodozai leader Shah Shuja, and the Sikh leader Ranjit Singh are provided by William Dalrymple in Return of the King: The Battle for Afghanistan, 1839–1842 (London: Bloomsbury, 2012). For the purposes of this book, the “Deccan” encompasses the plateau extending from the Maratha country of Western India to Hyderabad and its vicinity, and hinterland territories extending to the south of the Tungabhadra River toward Mysore. For an excellent compilation of English language sources, see Richard Sorsky, The Sepoy Mutiny: 1857, An Annotated Checklist of English Language Books (Fresno: Linden, 2007). The Company’s Raj (rule) in India assumed different forms in different regions of the subcontinent. In addition to those provinces that came under its direct administration, hundreds of princely states remained under the formal authority of Indian princes, whether Hindu rajas or Muslim nawabs. Many of these princes entered into subsidiary alliances with the Company, whereby the Company granted them military protection in exchange for loyalty and the payment of tribute.

4

Introduction

Arabic or Persian, which allegedly conveyed their “dark designs” to accomplices.9 Officials became convinced that these emissaries were knitting together a vast confederacy consisting of princes and their armies working in concert with Russian and Persian forces. The alarm sounded by Fraser and Elphinstone prompted swift and decisive action. From June to October 1839, police arrested several prominent Muslims in South India for their involvement in a conspiracy to drive the British out of India. Among the accused were Mubariz ud-Daula, the younger brother of the Nizam of Hyderabad10; Ghulam Rasul Khan, the Nawab (regional governor) of Kurnool; Sayyid Shah Modin Qadiri, a preacher at a renowned mosque at Vellore; and Shah Abbas Ali Khan, the Jagirdar (holder of a land grant) of Udayagiri. These men represented the key elements – a mastermind (Mubariz ud-Daula), suppliers of troops and weapons, and religious inspiration – of what came to be referred to as the Wahhabi conspiracy (see Map 1). Strictly speaking, Wahhabis were followers of the Arabian Muslim reformer, Muhammad Ibn Abdul Wahhab (1703–92). They called for a return to a purer form of Islam grounded in the Qur’an and the Hadith. They also espoused jihad (struggle or holy war) against religious abuses and innovations and against regimes that impeded the practice of Islam.11 As numerous scholars have pointed out, the Muslim reformers who were most active in India during the 1830s were not the Arabia-based Wahhabis, but followers of the Indian reformer, Sayyid Ahmad Barelvi (1786–1831), who called themselves the Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah (Order of the Prophet Muhammad).12 Colonial officials and Muslim opponents of the 9

10

11

12

It was James Fraser who offered this description of the signs used by Wahhabis to recognize each other upon reaching a new place. Fraser learned of these methods from testimonies of several Muslim detainees. After breaking free from Mughal control in 1724, hereditary rulers of Hyderabad’s founding Asaf Jah dynasty assumed the title of “Nizam.” Under the leadership of its Nizams, Hyderabad would become the richest and most powerful princely state of colonial India. Catherine Asher and Cynthia Talbot, India Before Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 248–49. During their early nineteenth-century campaign to seize control of the Hijaz, the Arabian Wahhabis destroyed holy sites and shrines associated with the Prophet and his family. Word of these zealous campaigns shaped a negative impression of Wahhabis among members of the Indian ulama. Thereafter they labeled Muslim reformers of India “Wahhabis.” See especially, Harlan Pearson, Islamic Reform and Revival in Nineteenth Century India: The Tariqahi-Muhammadiyah (New Delhi: Yoda, 2008), Barbara Daly Metcalf, Islamic Revival in British India: Deoband, 1860–1900 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982), Peter Hardy, Muslims of British India (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972), and Mohiuddin Ahmad, Saiyid Ahmad Shahid: His Life and Mission (Lucknow: Academy of Islamic Research and Publications, 1975). In South Asia and elsewhere, other reform movements calling for a return to the “path of the prophet Muhammad” referred to themselves as the Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah. For instance, Khwaja Muhammad Nasir of Delhi founded in the eighteenth century an organization bearing the same

6

Introduction

Hyderabad, Nellore, Arcot, and Madras. Company officials were convinced that these reformers had linked the affairs of the Afghan region to those of the Deccan and were orchestrating a massive revolt. As they investigated what they saw as Wahhabi-inspired threat, authorities detained numerous Muslim travelers. These detainees provided the earliest accounts of the alleged conspiracy: In 1839, Russian and Persian armies would advance through Afghanistan toward British India. As the Company’s army was diverted to the northwest frontier to counter this offensive, Prince Mubariz ud-Daula would initiate his revolt. Armies of the princely states of Tonk, Bhopal, Jodhpur, and Satara would attack British military outposts in the North. Mubariz would then lead a huge section of Hyderabad’s army on a campaign to seize control of the South. Kurnool’s Rasul Khan and Udayagiri’s Ali Khan would supply him with arms, soldiers, and grain. Upon victory, the King of Persia would rule India and Mubariz ud-Daula, after deposing his brother the Nizam of Hyderabad, would become the Subedar (local commandant or chief officer) of the Deccan. The most significant aspect of this scenario is that it did not materialize. Upon their arrests all four men profusely professed their innocence of any crime against the state, in some instances swearing on the Qur’an. As persons allegedly committed to jihadist doctrines and often hailed as “freedom fighters,” one might expect them to have declared at least some animosity toward the British; but this was not the case. What the investigation left behind is not the record of a violent uprising, but a massive supply of documentation revealing the scope and methods of the government’s intelligence-gathering operations. To unearth the designs of the conspirators, authorities detained and interrogated Muslims, conducted weapons inspections, surveyed forts and mosques, and ultimately annexed territories of the accused. As a result of these measures, Company officials believed they had preempted a large-scale and highly coordinated challenge to their rule in India. Were they correct in believing so, or had rumors of a conspiracy merely served to legitimate their use of force against troublesome Muslim regimes of India’s Deccan? This book draws attention to the role of local factors – petty, profane, and centered on individuals and their personal agendas – in manufacturing fears of an expansive conspiracy against British rule. Grievances within various towns of India’s Deccan found ways of connecting with flows of people, ideas, and information linking India to Persia, Arabia, and Central Asia. Arising from these connections, I argue, was the transnational imaginary of the Wahhabi conspiracy. Traffic between Hyderabad and a

Distant Threats, Local Schemes

7

wider Muslim world created the illusion of a coordinated “Wahhabi” threat; but local factors, not the transnational Muslim operative, became the driving force behind events. Rooted in this emphasis on the local is a related line of argumentation: The Company’s massive investigation reveals its investment in a social order maintained by means of patronage. Examinations of the alleged conspirators (or their accusers) did not merely address questions of guilt or innocence, but also vetted their family status, rank, title, land grants, pensions, or salaries secured under Company rule. By scrutinizing factors such as these, officials believed they could measure a Muslim’s likelihood either to rebel or remain loyal, the assumption being that anyone enjoying the Company’s patronage would remain loyal. Portrayed as fanatics and jihadists, so-called Wahhabis represented the antithesis of this order. The Company implicated Muslims of various ranks, ethnicities, and vocations in Wahhabi-inspired agitation. Besides linking suspects to Muslim reformist networks, the Wahhabi label often designated those who had turned from loyalty to rebellion in defiance of colonialism’s patronage order. This book sets the big picture scenarios associated with the so-called Wahhabi threat against the local stories of the key conspirators. Instead of using these stories to prove whether the conspiracy was “real” or not (a matter which tends to preoccupy philosophical and political science approaches to conspiracy theories), I focus on the performativity of the very notion of the transnational Wahhabi operative.13 It was not the Wahhabis per se but the fear of them that steered the events of the 1830s Deccan. Some of the most significant dynamics arising from conspiracy narratives are the performances they enact by means of their dissemination.14 These occur when a conspiracy narrative makes contact 13

14

In connection to the much-publicized “Wahhabi trials” that followed the 1857 Rebellion, Julie Stephens aptly refers to colonial paranoia concerning the “Phantom Wahhabi.” See Julie Stephens, “The Phantom Wahhabi: Liberalism and the Muslim Fanatic in mid-Victorian India,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 47, No. 1 (2013), 22–52. I discuss Stephens’ article in greater detail in Chapter 5. My emphasis on the performative aspects of conspiracy narration (as distinct from a focus on the validity of a conspiracy theory) is informed by other important work on speech-related events that shape communities and the societies in which they thrive. This includes scholarship on rumor, informal talk or gossip, and scandal. On rumor, see Anand Yang, “A Conversation of Rumors: The Language of Popular Mentalities in Late Nineteenth Century Colonial India,” Journal of Social History, Vol. 20, No. 3 (Spring 1987), 485–505; C.A. Bayly’s discussion of rumor as a component of colonialism’s information order in Empire and Information, 18–19 and 200–01; Luise White, Speaking with Vampires: Rumor and History in Colonial Africa (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2000); and Jan Vansina, Oral Tradition as History (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1985), 4–31. On informal speech, see Dipesh Chakrabarty’s discussion of adda in Provincializing Europe (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 180–213, Debarati Sen, “Speech Genres and Identity: The Place of Adda in Bengali Cultural Discourse,” Journal of Emerging Knowledge on Emerging Markets, Vol. 3

8

Introduction

with local politics and their stakeholders. Sibling rivalries within princely regimes could easily succumb to conspiratorial interpretation. Even petty disputes between persons of unequal rank within the colonial cutcherry (administrative office) could become occasions for spurious charges of someone being a Wahhabi conspirator, prompting laborious official investigation. Each chapter of this book describes how the very talk of conspiracy triggered a series of chain reactions within southern localities. For the British, a grand theory of a Wahhabi conspiracy organized a process of intelligence gathering and legitimated state action against treason suspects. The law, as Ranajit Guha has observed, functioned as an “emissary of the state,” structuring knowledge in the very process of documenting an alleged crime.15 I am particularly interested in how rumors of conspiracy legitimated various forms of state intervention and violence, often in the absence of adequate evidence. Indian subjects also spread conspiracy narratives, but only sometimes because they actually believed in them. Quite often, they did so to manage the duress of interrogation, earn favor from colonial authorities, or implicate their enemies in crimes against the state. The Deccan’s Wahhabi conspiracy, then, consisted not only of those who were genuinely committed to an anti-British jihad but also of those players – including colonial officials themselves – who exploited the government’s state of high alert to advance their own agendas. This messy and conflicting collage of agency lies at the heart of this study and thwarts any attempt to postulate a single Wahhabi agent aligned against a monolithic Company. Indeed, the vast resources devoted to unearthing this conspiracy yielded results that would disappoint anyone seeking evidence of a Manichean clash between Islam and the West or, for that matter, heroic acts of anticolonial resistance by radicalized Muslims.16

15 16

(Nov. 2011), 521–34, and Elizabeth Horodowich, Language and Statecraft in Early Modern Venice (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2008). On scandal, see Ari Adut, On Scandal: Moral Disturbances in Society, Politics and Art (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). Ranajit Guha, “Chandra’s Death,” in Ranajit Guha (ed.), A Subaltern Studies Reader, 1986–1995 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press,1997), 34–62. One gains the impression of a single, Wahhabi essence aligned against British power in Charles Allen’s God’s Terrorists: the Wahhabi Cult and the Hidden Roots of Modern Jihad (Jackson: Da Capo Press, 2006). In contrast to the above cited scholars (n. 12), Allen presents Sayyid Ahmad as having been “directly inspired by the [Arabian] Wahhabi model” on account of his time in Mecca. Because of the negative stigma attached to the label “Wahhabi,” the movement of Sayyid Ahmad tried to downplay these ties. The historiography, according to Allen, simply followed suit. See God’s Terrorists, 76–77.

Distant Threats, Local Schemes

9

I contend that the Deccan’s Wahhabi conspiracy arose largely if not entirely from the imagination of Hyderabad’s Prince Mubariz ud-Daula. Well before his involvement in this particular plot, Mubariz had developed the reputation of being a rebel. On two occasions, he had challenged the authority of his older brother, Nizam Nasir ud-Daula, and by extension his brother’s suzerain, the Company.17 During the early 1830s, however, a development in Mubariz’s life would bring new inspiration and resources to his already defiant posture toward authority: Mubariz became a “Wahhabi,” or at least came to be labeled as one. Thereafter, key aspects of this conspiracy became the handiwork of Mubariz ud-Daula, who now benefited from his ties to Sayyid Ahmad’s reformist networks. By joining this movement, Mubariz had attached himself not only to its organizational reach and resources but also to an ideology committed to establishing dar ul-Islam (the house or abode of Islam) in India by waging jihad against kafir (infidel) regimes. Mubariz and his cohort of reformist maulvis (teachers of Islamic law) proceeded to preach to Muslim troops stationed at Secunderabad (the principal outpost of the Hyderabad army) while maintaining communication with khalifas (deputies or representatives) based along the frontier. In June 1839, authorities imprisoned Mubariz for his role in inciting the troops to rebellion and coordinating the larger revolt. Mubariz’s immersion in Muslim reformist networks appears at first glance to have validated the worst fears of the British: Itinerant preachers of jihad had made a convert of an influential prince, incited him and his troops to rebellion, and forged a collaborative alliance with Britain’s imperial rivals. Moreover, his story appears to illustrate the role of Muslim reformist ideology in providing the inspiration and connective tissue for a transnational movement. For the Company, becoming a Wahhabi had the potential to graft converts into a seamless network of political opposition to British imperial power. One witness disclosed an apparent formula for enlisting Muslim soldiers in the conspiracy: Make them feel ashamed for serving infidel rulers, convert them to Wahhabism, and inspire them to wage jihad against their rulers.18 The act of undergoing bai’at, or initiation into the Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah 17

18

By 1800, the princely state of Hyderabad came under British sovereignty through the Treaty of Subsidiary Alliance signed between the Nizam and the Company. According to this treaty, the Nizams of Hyderabad paid tribute to the Company and maintained a detachment of its army in exchange for the Company’s military protection. Testimony of Muhammed Suleiman. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 182.

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Introduction

appears in this scenario to have signaled a critical moment of radicalization, both for Mubariz and those sepoys who rallied to his cause.19 The evidence for Mubariz’s sedition is strong, but not so for his alleged co-conspirators in neighboring districts. Like drying tributaries of the Musi River, the evidence tapers off as we move farther away from Hyderabad, the conspiracy’s origin and epicenter. And yet, the state’s investigation proceeded with equal if not greater vigor to other venues, assuming a life of its own and inflicting collateral damage along the way. The Company accused Kurnool’s Ghulam Rasul Khan of amassing and concealing weapons in his palace, presumably to aid Mubariz’s southern campaign. Udayagiri’s Abbas Ali Khan was believed to have secretly manufactured and sold the weapons to Rasul Khan, a fellow Pathan (Indo-Afghan) ruler. The maulvi, Modin Qadiri was accused of preaching jihadist sermons to Muslim troops who attended his mosque at the Vellore Fort. After devoting vast resources to investigate the roles of these other men, authorities were unable to gather convincing evidence of their collaboration with Mubariz or each other, or of their ties to Muslim reformist networks. On the contrary, some evidence indicated that local adversaries of these men had framed them, precisely by associating them with Mubariz and branding them “Wahhabis.”

The Fiction of Unity A conspiracy, according to David Coaty, involves “a group of people working together in secret, often, though perhaps not always, for a sinister purpose.”20 A conspiracy theory, by contrast, may simply refer to an explanation of an event(s) in terms of a conspiracy – that is, postulating that a group of people worked together in secret toward a sinister end.21 The Company’s interpretation of events in the Deccan during the 1830s clearly was a conspiracy theory in Coaty’s use of the phrase. Officials believed, after all, that various Muslim operatives had secretly collaborated

19

20 21

“Bai’at is a formula of fealty and signifies the acceptance of one’s spiritual preceptor. It confirms one’s initiation into and adoption of one of the various Sufi Orders. It is generally done by placing one’s hands in the hands of the preceptor.” Qeyamuddin Ahmad, The Wahabi Movement in India (Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyay, 1966), 24, n. 30. David Coaty (ed.), Conspiracy Theories: The Philosophical Debate (Hampshire: Ashgate, 2006), 2. Alternatively, a conspiracy theory is “an explanation that is contrary to an explanation that has official status at the time and place in question.” According to this usage, an explanation of events is unlikely to be considered a conspiracy theory if the government itself invokes the language of conspiracy in its official account. Ibid, 3.

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to plan their revolt. A recurring theme of the Company’s investigation, however, was its inability to prove that the alleged conspirators were in fact working together. Officials searched for letters that passed between Mubariz and his accomplices. When they were unable to track evidence of “seditious correspondence,” officials relied heavily on oral evidence drawn from detainees.22 Even in the context of oral testimony it was a witness’s reference to a paper trail that most interested authorities. Many detainees claimed to have either carried or read letters that implicated them or others in the conspiracy. At a time when documentary evidence was becoming the sine qua non of proof and legitimacy within the colonial bureaucracy, oral evidence failed to present convincing evidence of coordinated action.23 This is not to deny the existence of real opposition to British rule. The Company had faced mutinies by its Indian sepoys before, most notably at Vellore in 1806, but also at Bangalore, Wallahjabad, Bellary, and other military outposts of the Madras Presidency. In 1799, the Company and its allies had defeated Tipu Sultan, the formidable Muslim ruler of the southern kingdom of Mysore. They imprisoned members of the slain ruler’s family at the Vellore Fort. In the following decades, the fall of Mysore led to no small degree of speculation that even from prison, Tipu’s relatives were plotting massive retaliation. Had Wahhabi maulvis reached them with their jihadist message and were they together coordinating another mutiny? Repeated threats of uprisings from disaffected sections of society placed authorities on a constant state of alert. Another factor shaping the climate of this period was a rising tendency on the part of the Raj to emphasize the barbarism of Indian society. Evangelicals and Utilitarians portrayed Indian society as being in a state of cultural decay and in need of radical state intervention. This is evident in the much-publicized campaign for the abolition of sati (the cremation of

22

23

During the 1857 Rebellion, mutineers were believed to have conveyed seditious messages through wandering holy men and by passing chapatis (flat bread) to village headmen. These were used as letters, especially as the Native Press came increasingly under colonial scrutiny. Bayly, Empire and Information, 316–19. In her study of the scribal practices that undergirded colonial rule in India, Bhavani Raman describes the Company’s rising obsession with documentation, particularly in response to the problem of corruption. Bhavani Raman, Document Raj: Writing and Scribes in Early Colonial South India (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012).

12

Introduction

widows on the funeral pyres of their deceased husbands), opposition to female infanticide, and representations of the practice of hook swinging.24 Perhaps nowhere were these early Victorian representations of the barbaric more evident than in the Company’s campaign to eliminate thuggee, the practice of ritualized strangulation of travelers carried out by bandits who were branded thugs. From 1826 to 1835, more than 1,500 thugs were tried and nearly 400 hanged or deported. Their activities are detailed in Confessions of a Thug (1839), a novel by Philip Meadows Taylor, who had spent much of his career as an officer and administrator at Hyderabad in the Nizam’s army. During the same year as this novel’s publication, William Henry Sleeman oversaw a massive campaign for the “Suppression of Thuggee and Dacoity” within Company-ruled territories. In his own writings about thugs, Sleeman drew attention to their ritual practices, religious beliefs (noting the fact that many were Muslim, but worshipped a Hindu goddess), and cryptic modes of communication.25 The images and lore surrounding thugs share much in common with the qualities ascribed to Wahhabis. The common emphasis on their itinerancy, secrecy, ritual practices, and commitment to religious violence is striking. Moreover it was in 1839 that the Company subjected both thugs and Wahhabis to extensive campaigns to suppress their activities. Despite these resemblances, several factors distinguish the threat posed by Wahhabis, none the least their emphasis on a sacred text, unique association with purist Islam centered on an ethical, reformist message, and their perceived ties to a wider Muslim world. The 1839 campaign against Wahhabis also involved a unique constellation of southern localities – Kurnool, Udayagiri, Vellore, and Hyderabad – and alleged connections to wider arenas of inter-empire tension and conflict.26

24

25

26

Hook swinging was a ritual practice in which a metal hook was inserted into the flesh of the back of a devotee, who hung by a rope attached to a rotating crossbeam. The devotee then “swung” in a circular manner, often in honor of a patron deity. See Geoffrey Oddie, Popular Religion, Elites and Reform: Hooks-winging and its Prohibition in Colonial India, 1800–1891 (Delhi: Manohar, 1995). See W.H. Sleeman, Ramaseeana, or a vocabulary of the peculiar language used by the Thugs (Calcutta: Military Orphan Press, 1836). Kim Wagner bridges the gap between representation and reality in her most thorough examination of the practice in Thuggee: Banditry and the British in Early NineteenthCentury India (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007). Seema Alavi describes the global movements of Muslims within a context of inter-empire rivalry. She explores the “the formation of the ‘Muslim international’ by tracing the movements of Muslim men who traveled out of India and located themselves at the intersection of the British, Ottoman and Dutch Empires.” See Seema Alavi, “‘Fugitive Mullahs and Outlawed Fanatics’: Indian Muslims in nineteenth century trans-Asiatic Imperial Rivalries,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 45, No. 6 (2011), 1339.

The Fiction of Unity

13

The transnational Muslim operative is believed to have provided the ideological glue that bound together these relatively unknown regions of the Deccan. A preoccupation with ideological and transnational ties of these would be operatives, however, concealed a fragmented underside that defied conspiratorial interpretation. Reconciling the seeming coherence of an ideologically bound movement with the variety of personalities and interests at the local level poses a range of interpretive challenges. Ideology, after all, looks good on paper but rarely reproduces itself neatly in the lives of ordinary people. People may join a movement out of conviction or for non-ideological reasons.27 Others may associate the very same followers with a particular ideology in order to vilify them. Despite the fact that ideology cannot always explain human choices, it nevertheless presents an alluring organizing principal for complex phenomena, sometimes distorting realities on the ground for the sake of a more intelligible coherence. An examination of the core tenets and campaigns of the Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah allows us to appreciate their aspirations on their own terms. It also gives us a sense of how they came to be labeled “Wahhabis” and viewed as instigators of a global conspiracy. Only after examining their beliefs can we place ourselves in a position to interrogate the very premise of this coherence by closely examining the affairs of various localities within the Deccan. Who were these “Wahhabis?” The ideas and activities of Sayyid Ahmad (1786–1831) and his Tariqah-iMuhammadiyah lie in the shadows of much of this study, but need to be spelled out because of the controversies they sparked and their significant bearing upon the colonial imagination. Within territories that were once under Mughal rule, reformers called Muslims to spiritual renewal (tajdid). This pursuit of a purer form of Islam involved a rejection of local practices and customs they had absorbed from their Indian surroundings. They decried such practices as innovations (bidat) or as polytheism (shirk) in breach of scripture-based Islam.28 This critique of the local practices of Indian Muslims does not suggest that reformers sought a restoration of the 27

28

Eric Hoffer’s classic work on mass movements identifies their basic characteristics, irrespective of ideology. See The True Believer: Thoughts on the Nature of Mass Movements (New York: Harper Collins, 1951). The renewal (tajdid ) of Muslim societies expressed itself differently across various contexts and was led by different kinds of leaders. The movement begun by Ibd Abdul Wahhab responded to the perceived apathy and decadence of Muslim society under Ottoman rule. Later calls for tajdid would

14

Introduction

former Mughal Empire. They associated Mughal rule with mixtures and compromises with local culture, imperial decadence, and a climate of indifference and ignorance among Muslims concerning the Qur’an.29 Their calls for tajdid, according to Harlan Pearson, are best seen as facilitating the transition of Indian Muslims from Mughal to British rule.30 In contrast to the message of Arabian Wahhabis, which was quite critical of the mystical practices of Sufism, Sayyid Ahmad’s movement embraced many aspects of Sufism, with Sayyid Ahmad himself having been initiated into multiple Sufi orders.31 Sayyid Ahmad did, however, oppose what he considered to be abuses of Sufism. These included practices surrounding the cult centered on dead or living saints and assigning “excessive authority to one’s murshid” (guide or teacher).32 Given the profound influence of Sufism on localized practices of Indian Muslims, the message preached by Muhammadi reformers often drew sharp opposition from members of the ulama (scholars who interpreted the Qur’an) and other adherents of local Muslim traditions. Members of the Madras ulama, for instance, denounced the teachings of Muhammad Ali Rampuri, who spread Muhammadi doctrines in South India through his fiery preaching. The reformist call for tajdid was not limited to matters of personal piety, but also envisioned the reshaping of Indian political culture along Muslim lines. This vision traces back to the theological system of Shah Waliullah (1703–62), the Delhi-based Naqshbandi reformer. His comprehensive theology offered guidance to Muslims amid the decline of Mughal power in India. It combined exhortations to personal piety with a call to transform the political culture, if necessary by means of jihad. The goal of reversing the internal decay of Muslim society in India could not be

29 30 31

32

respond to unique pressures arising from European dominance. These movements could be led by Westernized Muslim elites calling for a more modernized Islam; or they could be led by ulama or Sufi leaders, who oversaw more rural calls for renewal among farmers, tribal groups, and merchants. See Ira Lapidus, A History of Islamic Societies, Second Edition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), 457. Mohiuddin Ahmad, Saiyid Ahmad Shahid, 10–13. Pearson, Islamic Reform and Revival in Nineteenth Century India, 59. Ayesha Jalal, Partisans of Allah: Jihad in South Asia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008), 71. Arabian Wahhabis adhered to Hanbali law, which promoted a highly literalistic interpretation of the Qur’an. As a result, they were quite hostile toward visions, trances, or claims to miraculous powers professed by Sufi pirs. Ahmad, Saiyid Ahmad Shahid: His Life and Mission, 100–01. Ayesha Jalal, Partisans of Allah, 71. Marc Gaborieau, “Sufism in the First Indian Wahhabi Manifesto: Siratu’l mustaqim by Isma’il Shahid and ‘Abdu’l Hayy,” in Alam, Delvoye Nalini, and Gaborieau, The Making of Indo-Persian culture: Indian and French Studies (Delhi: Manohar, 2000), 158–59.

The Fiction of Unity

15

achieved without confronting the rule of non-Muslims; but what shape would such confrontation assume? Shah Waliullah’s son, Shah Abdul Aziz, carried on his father’s role in helping Muslims make the transition to a post-Mughal India, this time within the context of rising British power. In Delhi, Shah Abdul Aziz and his younger brother, Shah Abdul Qadir, would eventually take Sayyid Ahmad under their wings and instruct him in the mystical traditions of the Chishti, Qadiri, and Naqshbandi orders of Sufism.33 This investment in Sayyid Ahmad’s formation as a spiritual leader also encompassed the realm of politics. During the occupation of Delhi by British forces in 1803, Abdul Aziz had issued a fatwa (religious pronouncement) declaring India to be dar ulharb (the abode of war) and Muslims to no longer be under Muslim control.34 Whereas commentators, especially after the events of 1857, have disagreed over how to interpret this fatwa, a consensus seems to have emerged among scholars that it was not an unambiguous call to jihad against the British.35 The fatwa is best viewed as Shah Abdul Aziz’s attempt simply to describe the political realities of his day, while offering Muslims guidance in addressing various social and economic challenges under a non-Muslim regime. How the young protégé, Sayyid Ahmad, would interpret the place of jihad is another matter. Marc Gaborieau makes a compelling case that Sayyid Ahmad departed from the position of his mentor (Abdul Aziz) by more clearly advocating jihad against opposing regimes.36 Would this ideological commitment to jihad eventually inspire Mubariz ud-Daula’s conspiracy? 33 34

35

36

Ahmad, Saiyid Ahmad Shahid: His Life and Mission, 36. His was not the only fatwa of this period. One source identifies nearly twenty fatwas concerning the state of Muslims under British rule. Some do little more than declare British India to be dar ul-harb. Others accompany this declaration with a description of Muslim decline under British rule. Still others, such as that of Abdul Hai Budhanvi, signal the need for a struggle against the practices implemented under the new regime: “If atheists take control over a city it is duty of the Muslims to try their best to end the control[.] It has already happened in India which is not hidden, so it is duty of all Muslims to fight against it.” In Faisal Ahmad Bhatkali Nadwi, Tahreek-e-Azadi Me Ulama Ka Kirdaar – 1857 se Pahle (Lucknow: Academy of Islamic Research & Publication, 2003), 270. Translation by Hashmi Iliyas Syed. Pearson, Islamic Reform and Revival in Nineteenth Century India, 34. According to Barbara Metcalf, the fatwa suggested that in the absence of Muslim role, the scholarly ulama would have to play a more prominent role in guiding the faithful in civil and religious matters. Metcalf, Islamic Revival in British India, 51. According to Ayesha Jalal, Abdul Aziz was addressing questions pertaining to earning interest on money, not jihad, when he described India as dar ul-harb. See Jalal, Partisans of Allah: Jihad in South Asia (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2008), 68. Mohiuddin Ahmad’s perspectives are confirmed by the observations of Marc Gaborieau, who distinguishes three phases in the approach to jihad by South Asian Muslims: (1) a medieval phase, which enjoined Muslims to extend dar ul-Islam by waging jihad against infidels, (2) a post-1857 phase, which responded to colonial caricatures of Muslims as fanatically committed to jihad (e.g., W.W. Hunter, 1873). Here, they either reinterpreted jihad as strictly defensive or viewed it as

16

Introduction

Sayyid Ahmad’s jihad against the Sikh regime of Ranjit Singh (1780–1839) may be viewed as the culmination of his reformist campaign. The jihad occurred roughly twenty years prior to Mubariz ud-Daula’s campaign. Sayyid Ahmad perceived Ranjit Singh’s kingdom as inhibiting Muslim subjects (who were mostly Afghan) from practicing their religion.37 To wage his jihad, Sayyid Ahmad drew heavily on the services of Afghan warriors. This proved to be a fragile alliance, however, since the Sayyid’s reformist ideals often conflicted with the customary practices and short-term interests of Afghan clans. Ayesha Jalal’s account of this particular jihad reveals a consistent tension between Sayyid Ahmad’s ethical, sharia-based ideals and the practical politics needed to wage a successful battle.38 Divisions between the Afghan clans and their resistance to many of Sayyid Ahmad’s religious reforms hindered the progress of his campaign.39 In the end, Durrani soldiers recruited for the jihad betrayed Sayyid Ahmad, setting in motion events leading to his martyrdom and the deaths of thousands of his mujahidin (religious warriors). The unsuccessful jihad against the Sikhs made a martyr of Sayyid Ahmad and gave rise to a myth concerning his return as the mahdi.40 Would this enduring belief become a rallying point for Mubariz

37

38 39

40

altogether abrogated, and (3) a nationalist phase, in which Muslims reaffirmed the centrality of jihad as an armed struggle, in the context of anticolonial nationalism. Gaborieau contends that Sayyid Ahmad’s teachings return to the perspective put forth in the medieval phase, by advocating armed struggle against Sikh and British regimes. In this respect, Sayyid Ahmad, Gaborieau observes, departed from the views of his teacher, Shah Abdul Aziz, who in his fatwa of 1803 did not advocate jihad against the British, but simply tried to interpret the practical implications for Muslims of living under British rule. Marc Gaborieau, “The ‘Forgotten Obligation’: A Reinterpretation of Sayyid Ahmad Barelwi’s Jihad in the North-Western Frontier, 1826–1831,” in Jackie Assayag (ed.), The Resources of History: Tradition, Narration and Nation in South Asia (Ecole francaise d’Extreme-Orient Institut francais de Pondichery, 1999), 295–96. In a speech delivered to Muslim leaders along the Frontier, he enumerated the alleged crimes of the Sikh regime: “Ranjit Sing’s men, I was told, burnt mosques, destroyed the crops, relieved the local population of all they had, and even took away women and children to be sold as serfs. In the Punjab itself, I was told, the Sikhs did not allow Muslims to give call for prayers and turned the mosques into stables. Kine [cow]-slaughter was completely banned; rather a Muslim suspected of killing a kine was done to death.” Sirat Saiyid Ahmad Shahid, Vol. I, 379–80; taken from Mohiuddin Ahmad, Saiyid Ahmad Shahid, 120. Ayesha Jalal, Partisans of Allah, 87. Laws pertaining to prayer and fasting, family matters, marriage, alcohol consumption, and the tax on the land (ushr) were strictly enforced in ways that violated local customs and sensibilities. This resulted in massive defections from the cause. Some Pashtun fighters who were motivated by the reward of booty or high wages could not reconcile themselves to fighting purely for Allah. Ibid, 94. The mahdi refers to the spiritual guide who would appear at the end of history to defeat the forces of evil in the world and establish the reign of justice. Upon the sayyid’s death, maulvis at Patna spread rumors that he had merely disappeared as a result of God’s displeasure with fainthearted Indian Muslims. God withdrew their Imam and hid him in a mountain cave in Kashmir. When his followers were properly united and assembled with conviction for a true jihad, this madhi “would

The Fiction of Unity

17

ud-Daula’s campaign? More specifically, would Sayyid Ahmad’s followers be eager only eight years after the death of their leader to instigate another jihad, this time against the British, a far more powerful enemy, and that too in the Deccan, a region far removed from the movement’s place of origin? Clearly this possibility weighed heavily on the thinking of authorities within both Company and princely ruled territories; and yet, their belief in a Wahhabi inspired confederacy masked local plots and maneuverings that were often far removed from the activities of reformers. At issue is how to situate reformist beliefs and networks in relation to those localities of the Deccan, which became focal points of the Company’s investigation. In this connection, tools from other kinds of historical studies become useful. Retrieving the Local Historians have presented alternative models for retrieving the local from the far-reaching claims of ideology. Microhistory, for instance, examines the fine details of everyday life within a given locality to challenge the generalizations of broader studies. The latter may include those that try to explain changes occurring over the longue duree or those predicated on grand narratives such as progress, civilization, or modernity.41 By drawing attention to individuals or smaller communities and to local variables that shaped their outlook, microhistorians such as Carlo Ginzburg have exposed the deficiencies of broad, quantitative studies.42 In his classic work, The Cheese and the Worms (1976), Ginzburg examined the life of a sixteenth-century miller, tried for heresy under the Inquisition. Drawing from copious documents of the trial proceedings, Ginzburg traced the preChristian origins of the miller’s heretical beliefs in order to reconstruct his life world and by extension, those of Italy’s lower classes.43

41 42

43

reappear and lead them on to victory.” In the following decade, this myth continued to inspire some of his followers as they traveled to various parts of the Deccan. (n/a), “The Wahhabis in India, No. II,” The Calcutta Review, Vol. LI, No. CI (1870), 187. See also Marc Gaborieau, Le Mahdi incompris: Sayyid Ahmad Barelwi (1786–1831) et le millenarisme en Inde (Paris: CNRS Editions, 2010), 21–23, 27–30. Carlo Ginzburg, “Microhistory: Two or Three Things That I Know about It,” Critical Inquiry, Vol. 20, No. 1 (Autumn, 1993), 10–35. See Sigurdur Gylfi Magnusson’s extremely thorough discussion of microhistory’s interventions and place within social history. Magnusson, “The Singularization of History: Social History and Microhistory within the Postmodern State of Knowledge,” Journal of Social History (Spring 2003), Vol. 36, No. 3; 709–12. Carlo Ginzburg, The Cheese and the Worms: The Cosmos of a Sixteenth Century Miller (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1976).

18

Introduction

Contributions to the Subaltern Studies project of Indian historiography present a similar emphasis on the local. In some cases, scholars draw extensively from colonial police reports and court documents to retrieve local histories. Ranajit Guha’s famous essay, “Chandra’s Death” (cited above), uses police reports to reconstruct the story of a young woman who became pregnant out of wedlock and died during the abortion procedure attempted by her mother and sister. His extremely thorough examination of the police reports was his attempt to “reclaim the [colonial] document for history.”44 Shahid Amin’s examination of official accounts of the Chauri Chaura trials in Gorakhpur is similarly aimed at retrieving a subaltern history from colonial reports that documented the “crime” of police killings.45 In their examinations of colonial records, both authors incorporate key details of the local context that were omitted in the original acts of recordation. This rereading of the colonial document ultimately frees subaltern subjects from narratives that have criminalized them. Inspired by such methods, I have used the massive documentation of this investigation to gain insights into realities on the ground in Hyderabad, Kurnool, Udayagiri, and Vellore. Central to this endeavor is my examination of oral testimonies of Muslim detainees (including those of the prime suspects). A critical reading of their testimonies, when corroborated with other source materials (from legal proceedings, colonial correspondence, or records of the Nizam’s court), brought to light a number of local plots and personal agendas that are easily missed when too much emphasis is placed on jihadist networks and ideology. Only by probing deeper into each context can we peel back layers of interpretation that portrayed jihadists as the chief agents of a grand scheme, and only then is local agency brought into sharper relief.46 Recent developments in the study of religious conversion also have placed greater emphasis on local factors. This is in marked contrast to earlier studies, which portrayed large-scale religious conversion as an

44 45 46

Ranajit Guha, “Chandra’s Death,” 138. Shahid Amin, Event, Metaphor and Memory: Chauri Chaura, 1922–1992 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995). Anna Tsing provides an interesting approach to the dynamics of hegemony. In her study of capitalist interventions in the Indonesian rainforests, she contends that universal projects are worked out through a range of conflicts, appropriations, and resistances. “Engaged universals,” she writes, “travel across difference and are charged and changed by their travels.” The application of Tsing’s framework to religious ideologies and their impact on regional cultures can shed light on local appropriations and resistances to religion. Anna Tsing, Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005), 8.

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19

extension of a religion from its geopolitical “core” to its “periphery.”47 The earlier approach treated Christian conversion in sub-Saharan Africa or South Asia as an extension of Western Christianity by means of colonial missions, or treated Islamization as following the path of Muslim imperial expansion.48 Alternative approaches have stressed the centrality of local agents, preexisting beliefs, or other contingencies that steered conversion movements, or have described longue duree processes that effected religious change.49 These debates are relevant precisely because the Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah was a well-networked, proselytizing movement in the business of expanding its fold. They made a murid (follower) of Mubariz ud-Daula and are believed to have gained tens of thousands of murids in and around Hyderabad. As we shall see in Chapter 2, however, it was never entirely clear whether the reformists were making use of Mubariz for their goals or vice versa. Just as conversion literature increasingly calls attention to local appropriation and agency, I argue in Chapter 2 that a certain climate of disaffection in Hyderabad created a receptive audience for Muhammadi preaching and set the stage for Mubariz’s initiatives. Questions of local agency in conversion debates also carry weighty implications for whether converts to the Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah were 47

48

49

Here, I borrow the language of “core” and “periphery” from Immanuel Wallerstein’s analysis of the capitalist world system, which since 1500 had formed its core within European societies, while Asian, Latin American, and African societies represented its periphery. Even world systems theory, however, has taken a turn toward the local, that is, in those efforts to rescue so-called peripheral regions from their marginal status relative to the centers of industrial production and trade. See Wallerstein’s recent summary of his position in World Systems Analysis, An Introduction (Durham: Duke University Press, 2004). On the agency and pre-modern prominence of non-European zones, see J.L. Abu Lughod, Before European Hegemony: The World System A.D. 1250–1350 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989). See also Michael Adas’s appraisal of the shifting emphases in world systems analysis in Adas, “Bringing Ideas and Agency Back In: Representation and the Comparative Approach to World History,” in Pomper, Elphick, Vann (eds.), World History: Ideologies, Structures, and Identities (Malden: Blackwell Publishers, 1998), 81–104. As more and more scholars highlight the role of local beliefs, translators, catechists, and preachers in the conversion process (particularly for mass or group conversions), others maintain the pivotal role of “Western capitalist culture” in shaping Christianity, such as that found in South Africa. See Jean and John Comaroff, “Christianity and Colonialism in South Africa,” American Ethnologist, Vol. 13, No. 1 (February 1986), 1–22. An excellent compilation of case studies of conversion across time, region, and discipline is provided in Lewis Rambo and Charles Farhadian (eds.), Oxford Handbook of Religious Conversion (New York: Oxford University Press, 2014). For case studies that document cultural and religious factors that have influenced conversion movements in South Asia, see Geoffrey Oddie (ed.), Religious Conversion Movements in South Asia: Continuities and Change, 1800–1900 (Richmond Surrey: Curzon Press, 1997). Richard Eaton’s landmark study, The Rise of Islam in the Bengal Frontier, 1204–1760 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993) debunks dominant explanations for Islamization in South Asia, drawing attention instead to developments in agrarian society, especially among peasants, which explain their conversion to Islam during the Mughal period.

20

Introduction

perceived as “foreigners” or as part of the fabric of local society. The label “Wahhabi” connotes affiliation with Arabian reformers or their “Arabicist” outlook and factors into the sharp distinctions often drawn between Wahhabis and other Indian Muslims.50 Such distinctions, as we shall see, became most pronounced after the 1857 Rebellion; but even prior to this, officials tended to portray the followers of Sayyid Ahmad as agents of a transnational conspiracy. Filippo Osella and Caroline Osella contend that scholars of South Asia have mistakenly embraced a view of reformist Islam, which essentially portrays them as outsiders. They have critiqued a tendency in anthropological studies to portray Sufi-inspired forms of Indian Islam as authentically South Asian, while pejoratively labeling reformism as “foreign inspired,” modernist, or Wahhabi. Moreover, reformism is much more easily recognized as a component of “global Islam“ than are localized and more syncretic forms of Indian Islam.51 The findings of this study reveal how such distinctions were central to the colonial imagination, and how easily the label “Wahhabi” could mask thoroughly homegrown initiatives and intrigues. Throughout the investigation of developments in the Deccan, both Muslim witnesses and colonial officials used the label “Wahhabi” to designate the followers of Sayyid Ahmad. This is in spite of the fact that Sayyid Ahmad and his followers had no direct contact with the Arabian Wahhabis.52 During the 1830s, the British often applied the term “Wahhabi” to Muslims of varying vocations and ethnicities whom they perceived as potential agents of rebellion. Wandering Arabs or Afghans who came to the Deccan in search of employment were sometimes labeled as Wahhabis or screened for having Wahhabi ties or sympathies. Muslim princes, mullahs who served in local mosques, or qazis who officiated in Muslim courts were similarly scrutinized. That such a variety of people could be designated as Wahhabis has led some scholars to treat the term more as a slippery and pejorative label than 50

51

52

In her recent study, Seema Alavi characterizes the reforms of Sayyid Ahmad’s movement as “Arabicist” and as advancing the interests of an “Arabicist” imperium. Seema Alavi, Muslim Cosmopolitanism in the Age of Empire (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015), 464–7. I discuss Alavi’s views in greater detail in the following chapter. This critique sets the stage for their discussion of reformers of Kerala who were simultaneously local and transnational in their outlook. Filipo Osella and Caroline Osella, “Islamism and Social Reform in Kerala, South India,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 42, No. 2/3 (2008), 317–19. They did, however, have ties to the followers of Yemen’s Muhammad Ibn Ali al-Shaukani (1760–1834) who, in the years following the 1857 Rebellion, would come to be called the Ahl-iHadith. See also Marc Gaborieau, Le Mahdi incompris, 112–13.

Liberal Empire meets Namak Halal

21

as any literal reference to Abdul Wahhab’s reform movement.53 Marcia Hermansen, for instance, notes that the term “Wahhabi” evolved amid mutual perceptions of British rulers and their Muslim subjects.54 More recently, Julie Stephens has described how Muslims themselves had used the label “Wahhabi” to designate reformist Muslims who were attacking teachings of established Muslim authorities. Both perspectives, however, tend to present the label “Wahhabi” as being cast in the cauldron of post1857 concerns about Muslim loyalty. Developments in the Deccan during the 1830s clearly demonstrate an intentional deployment of the Wahhabi label in order to distinguish loyal Muslims from those who were inclined toward rebellion.

Liberal Empire meets Namak Halal In the immediate aftermath of the 1857 Rebellion, some officials became convinced of the key role played by Muslims. References to “suspicious” Muslim travelers and their “seditious communication” nurtured a climate of Islamophobia.55 It was in this context that the civil servant, W.W. Hunter, asked whether the teachings of Islam obligated Muslims to rebel against their British rulers. Hunter was convinced that it was the “fanatical” Wahhabi sect who, having designated British India as dar al-harb (the abode of war), consider it their obligation to wage war against

53

54

55

Focusing on the post-1857 era, Julie Stephens observes that the persistent threat of the “Phantom Wahhabi” became a site for a contest between state authoritarianism and limits on state power vis-àvis rights of habeas corpus. Stephens, “The Phantom Wahhabi,” 48. According to Hermansen, Muslim perceptions of the term gradually shifted from one that signified “genealogical or initiatory category implying direct connection of individuals to a source and to each other, to an ideological one, bearing less and less relationship to a specific collectivity.” The British associated the label with “Muslim concepts of jihad, dar- al-harb (abode of war), and conspiracy.” The term evoked fears of “Pan-Islamic sedition” and Muslim fanatical zeal. Muslims, in turn, treated the term as one that designated them as being disloyal to the British and linked them to the literalism of the original Arabian movement. Marcia Hermansen, “Wahhabis, Fakirs and Others: Reciprocal Classifications and the Transformation of Intellectual Categories,” in Jamal Malik (ed.), Perspectives of Mutual Encounters in South Asian History (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 31, 34. Chris Bayly provides an account of these voices of “mussulmanophobia” in Empire and Information, 320–24. An essay by Marina Carter and Crispin Bates provides a highly nuanced account of Muslim participation, with special reference to the roles of ghazis and colonial fears of the Wahhabi hand in a Muslim conspiracy. See Carter and Bates, “Religion and retribution in the Indian rebellion of 1857,” Leidschrift: Empire and Resistance. Religious Beliefs versus the Ruling Power, 24 1 (2009), 51–68. Peter Hardy’s study identifies the same stereotyping of Muslims after the 1857 Rebellion, but notes also the more nuanced perspectives of Lord Canning and Sir George Campbell, who did not regard the Rebellion as a “general Muslim movement against the British.” Hardy, The Muslims of British India, 66–69.

22

Introduction

their rulers; whereas the more enlightened Muslims, while “sorrowfully accepting the fact [of British rule], do not regard it as a ground for rebellion.56 It is widely assumed that Hunter’s distinction between “loyal Muslims” versus “Wahhabis” – or, as Mahmud Mamdani puts it, “good Muslims” versus “bad Muslims”57 – was unique to conditions that followed the 1857 Rebellion. Scholarship devoted to the much-publicized Wahhabi trials of the 1860s and 1870s reinforces this assumption.58 The events discussed in this study, however, clearly show how fears of a Muslim conspiracy had predated these events and drawn the attention of the highest levels of the government. What exactly can we gain by examining these earlier developments, beyond exposure to less known personalities and districts of southern India? The events of the Deccan provide insights concerning the matter of Muslim loyalty, especially within the framework of liberal imperialism. As a tradition that champions the rights and freedoms of individuals, property rights, and the rule of law, liberalism was the British Empire’s gift to “illiberal societies” of the world. Its far-reaching claims ranged from emancipating women from male oppressors to delivering the colonized from despotic rulers and guiding “primitive” peoples along the path to modern citizenship. What unique challenges did so-called Wahhabis pose for the liberal empire in India? And how would a commitment to upholding the rights of the accused be balanced with an interest in protecting the state from preachers and princes allegedly plotting jihad? Recent studies have critiqued the claims of liberal imperialism, often by exposing double standards applied to women and non-Whites.59 An 56 57 58

59

W.W. Hunter, The Indian Musalmans: Second Edition (London: Trubner and Co., 1872), 143. Mahmud Mamdani, Good Muslim, Bad Muslim: America, the Cold War, and the Roots of Terror (Delhi: Permanent Black, 2005). See, for instance, Qeyamuddin Ahmad, The Wahabi Movement in India (Calcutta: Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyay, 1966), 239–79; Peter Robb, “The Impact of British Rule on Religious Community: Reflections on the Trial of Maulvi Ahmadullah of Patna in 1865,” in Robb (ed.), Society and Ideology: Essays in South Asian History Presented to Professor K.A. Ballhatchet (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1993), Bayly, Empire and Information: Intelligence Gathering and Social Communication in India, 338–46, and Hardy, Muslims of British India, 61–91. More recently, Stephens “The Phantom Wahhabi,” 48. See, for instance, Uday Chandra, “Liberalism and its Other: The Politics of Primitivism in Colonial and Postcolonial Indian Law,” Law and Society Review, Vol. 47, Issue 1, 135–68 (March 2013); and Uday Mehta, “Liberal Strategies of Exclusion,” in Frederick Cooper and Ann Laura Stoler (eds.), Tensions of Empire: Colonial Cultures in a Bourgeois World (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), 59–86. On the increasingly imperialist emphasis of liberal theory, see Jennifer Pitts, A Turn to Empire: The Rise of Imperial Liberalism in Britain and France (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005). On liberalism, race, and gender, see Rosalind O’Hanlon, “Gender in the British Empire,” in

Liberal Empire meets Namak Halal

23

important aspect of this critique concerns the exclusionary impulses embedded in the very heart of liberalism’s universal claims. The equality and freedom ensured by liberal institutions, as Uday Mehta has observed, is denied to certain classes of people either because they lack the rational prerequisites for political inclusion or because their cultures are “inscrutable” to the point of warranting perpetual exclusion.60 When the liberal empire met Muslims in the early nineteenth-century Deccan, it did not measure their degree of rationality or civilizational progress as much as it provided a yardstick for measuring their loyalty. Even in the 1830s, they branded Muhammadi reformers “fanatics.” The administration was alarmed by their emphasis on jihad and became increasingly concerned that reformers were shifting their target from the Sikhs to the British. What made them fanatical, however, was not their belief in divine agency or eschatology, but their willingness to act on their beliefs in ways that made them unmanageable, thus threatening the conservative, patronage order that ensured stability.61 Land grants, honorific titles, military rank, employment, gifts, stipends, and other forms of patronage were vital components of a strategy designed to pacify Muslims and maintain social stability. During the 1830s, being on the receiving end of such rewards was likely to ensure namak halal (literally, “good salt”), or the bonds of loyalty between ruler and ruled. The Company’s elaborate system of patronage provided a more fundamental basis for liberal inclusion than any modernist credentials and was likely to produce a “good Muslim.” The Company gauged the loyalty of Muslim princes, soldiers, clerics, or government bureaucrats in terms of their accommodation to the incentives provided under its rule. A most salient feature of the government’s prosecution of South Indian treason suspects – and a theme that extends through the chapters of this book – is the vetting of their social status.

60 61

Oxford History of the British Empire: Volume IV, The Twentieth Century (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1999), 379–97; Rachel Sturman, The Government of Social Life in Colonial India: Liberalism, Religious Law, and Women’s Rights (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), Elizabeth Kolsky, Colonial Justice in British India: White Violence and the Rule of Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), Karuna Mantena, Alibis of Empire: Henry Maine and the Ends of Liberal Imperialism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010), and Lata Mani, Contentious Traditions: The Debate about Sati in Colonial India (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998). Uday Mehta, “Liberal Strategies of Exclusion,” 74–75. Their opposition to popular practices and use of printed media, after all, made their reformist message quite rational and “modern.” They disseminated their teachings through printed Urdu texts, through which they communicated in the most accessible language possible. In some respects, their puritanical message resembled Protestant invectives against Roman Catholic popular practices. Pearson, Islamic Reform and Revival in Nineteenth Century India, 144–47.

24

Introduction

Alongside the examination of “hard evidence” was the Company’s scrutiny of the titles, lands, offices, or rank held by the accused. It was in this profiling of Muslim suspects that the Wahhabi label was readily deployed. Did their reliance on the Company for their status provide these Muslims (or their accusers) with sufficient grounds to remain loyal, or were they likely to be seduced by Wahhabi preaching? The binary was less about “rationality vs. fanaticism” than “patronage vs. disenfranchisement.” The very logic by which the Company’s Raj sought to measure Muslim loyalty appeared to merge with traditional notions of the ruler-subject bond within South Asian polities. Namak halal signified the allegiance owed to a king on the basis of having received the king’s gifts of land, official titles, or other forms of patronage. It was a reciprocal bond based on the exchange of gifts for loyalty.62 Namak haram meant betrayal or treason committed by those who “ate the salt” of the ruler. The use of the phrase namak halal in the investigation of treason demonstrates the intersection between modern notions of criminality and traditional notions of patronage and loyalty.63 Case studies provided in this book display the interplay of these categories. Chapter 1 provides an overview of the transnational setting of the conspiracy. This includes a discussion of the unfolding rivalry between the Russians and the British being played out in the Afghan region and why this Great Game came to impact events in the Deccan. In this connection, I discuss three networks of Muslim migrants linking Hyderabad (and other regions of the Deccan) to Arabia, Central Asia and various parts of North India: Arabs, Afghans, and reformists of the

62

63

Andre Wink describes early Islamic conquests in South Asia as being predicated more on the notion of fitna (literally, rebellion, or internal strife) than on jihad. Muslim conquerors advanced in India not through linear expansion, but by exploiting some local conflict and accommodating themselves to a preexisting social order. The forging of alliances through rewards and gifts of various kinds were central to political practice grounded in fitna. Wink develops the idea of fitna-based frontier politics in order to debunk the binary thinking associated with the medieval rhetoric of holy war and the historiographical tendencies that accompany it. See André Wink, Al-Hind: The Making of the IndoIslamic World, Vol. I (Leiden: Brill, 2002), 198–200. See also André Wink, Land and Sovereignty in India: Agrarian Society and Politics under the Eighteenth Century Maratha Swarajya (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986). This emphasis on Muslim loyalty was also evident in colonial analysis in the immediate aftermath of the 1857 Rebellion. According to Thomas Metcalf, “behavior during the rebellion was viewed through the lens of ‘loyalty’ and ‘rebellion’, and evaluated according to notions of how Indians ought to respond.” The British attempted to measure the extent of Indian “gratitude” for the benefits they enjoyed. Thomas R. Metcalf, Ideologies of the Raj (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), 45–46. It was in the course of the trials of the 1860s and 1870s, however, that a more metropolitan, rights-based discourse was brought to bear on individuals charged with treason.

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25

Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah. Representing vital links between Hyderabad and a wider Muslim world, these migrants became objects of suspicion amid the political crisis unfolding in Afghanistan. This discussion of the global context sets the stage for the chapter’s examination of the testimonies of Muslim detainees who provided the earliest and most detailed accounts of the conspiracy. What the detainees shared in common was some tie to Hyderabad’s Mubariz ud-Daula. This is what inclines me to consider the conspiracy as largely arising from the imagination of the Hyderabad prince, and not from the more active, jihadist elements of the Frontier. Chapter 2 describes the activities of Mubariz ud-Daula, the alleged leader of the conspiracy, before and after his conversion to Sayyid Ahmad’s reformist movement. The chapter places his activities within the context of local, Hyderabadi politics. Since 1798, when the Nizam of Hyderabad signed the Treaty of Subsidiary Alliance with the Company, those politics revolved around relations between the Nizam’s Court, the British Resident, and the army. Under the terms of the Treaty, the Nizam was obligated to fund the English-trained Subsidiary Force, based at Hyderabad. The perpetual debts arising from this arrangement made it impossible for the Nizam to employ the large numbers of Arab and Afghan warriors that flocked to Hyderabad in search of a place in his army. The chapter describes Mubariz’s growing affinity with these disenfranchised soldiers, his conversion to Wahhabism, and his attempts to incite rebellion among the troops. Developments in Kurnool, like Hyderabad, are grounded in a unique local history, centered on the strained relations between Kurnool’s nawabs and the Company. Setting the stage for the Company’s 1839 campaign against Kurnool was an already sour relationship traceable to questions concerning the legitimacy of Nawab Ghulam Rasul Khan’s succession. After discussing the matter of his succession, I describe the campaign to vilify Rasul Khan by linking him to the conspiracy. Claims concerning Rasul Khan’s ties to Mubariz depended on the discovery of a seditious letter, which I discuss in some detail. The Company’s inspections of Rasul Khan’s military arsenal culminated in an ultimatum and an attack on the Rohilla and Arab soldiers who guarded him. The army imprisoned Rasul Khan and annexed Kurnool. It did so despite Rasul Khan’s lengthy letters professing his innocence and considerable evidence that his local adversaries – possibly his own relatives – had reported his alleged crimes to the Company in hopes of seeing him deposed.

26

Introduction

Chapter 4 describes a very similar series of events in connection to Shah Abbas Ali Khan, the Jagirdar of Udayagiri. The Company identified him as the chief arms provider for Kurnool’s Rasul Khan and as a Wahhabi sympathizer. They accused Ali Khan of routinely hosting “suspicious foreigners” at his palace, against the wishes of Nellore’s Principal Collector, T.V. Stonhouse. Like Kurnool’s Rasul Khan, Ali Khan profusely expressed his loyalty to the Company in a series of letters. Without granting him a trial, the Company imprisoned him in December 1839 and annexed the lucrative lands of Udayagiri. Perhaps more poignantly than in the case of Rasul Khan, interpersonal politics within the district cutcherry appear to have played a significant role in manufacturing the charges against Ali Khan. Chapter 5 is devoted entirely to the trial of Sayyid Modin Qadiri. The police accused the Vellore maulvi of authoring and distributing a seditious book entitled Ras Nasara and of preaching seditious messages to Muslim sepoys at his mosque, located on the grounds of the Vellore Fort. The chapter brings to light the factors that led twenty-nine Muslims to accuse Modin Qadiri of seditious preaching. It then describes the spirited defense of Modin during his trial at Chittoor. Special attention is given to the role of Malcolm Lewin, the Commissioner who oversaw the proceedings of the Special Court that tried Modin. Lewin, who would later become a renowned critic of the Company for its abuses of power, particularly in connection to its use of torture, brought his liberal sensibilities to bear on the proceedings of Modin’s trial. Together the chapters reveal three recurring themes. First, they bring to light how local dynamics having little to do with religion could easily succumb to conspiratorial interpretation. It was precisely when conspiratorial thinking assumed a mythical and paranoid character that it ignited both the organs of the state and local agendas toward competing interests. Second, the chapters show how, within the liberal empire, the exercise of power was often accompanied by its own interrogation. As much as the events described in these chapters describe the shortcomings of colonial justice, they also reveal a range of voices – including those of restraint and dissent – that entered decision-making processes. Finally, the alleged conspirators stood not only in the crossfire of competing politics of their day but also amid powerful crosscurrents in the historiography of modern South Asia. Whereas nationalist historians have portrayed Mubariz ud-Daula or Ghulam Rasul Khan as “freedom fighters,” my examination of the historical record casts new light upon their legacies. The historiography of the 1857 Rebellion has similarly inflected discussions of Muslim

Liberal Empire meets Namak Halal

27

loyalty and Wahhabis in a certain way. By removing the “Wahhabi question” from the historiographical shadow of 1857 (reflected in W.W. Hunter’s 1872 book and commentary on the Wahhabi trials), these chapters shed light upon an earlier context, which animated discussions about the place of Muslims within British India.

chapter 1

The Fear of Itinerant Muslims

In February 1839, authorities at Madras detained and interrogated a Persian traveler named Sahib Amir. They suspected him to be a Wahhabi engaged in anti-British activities. The prison guard described him as a “fierce maniac” with a powerful frame and uncut, shaggy, and matted hair.1 For a time, Sahib Amir refused to answer any questions. The Superintendent of Police, E.J. Elliot, then arranged for several prominent local Muslims, known to be on good terms with the Company, to share confinement with the detainee in hopes of making him comfortable enough to speak.2 To one of these informants Sahib Amir provided in Persian an account of his travels. Claiming that he was Persian by birth, he related many details concerning the King of Persia (Muhammed Shah Qajar, r. 1834–48) and other persons of distinction. He stated that he had left Persia four years ago for Bombay and thereafter proceeded to Hyderabad. At Hyderabad, Nizam Nasir ud-Daula warmly received him initially, but eventually placed him under confinement for some unknown offense. Sahib Amir also claimed to have lived in both Russia and Turkey and to speak Russian fluently. His descriptions of the customs and habits of the Russians and their passport system and his humming of a favorite song of the Cossacks convinced Elliot that he was telling the truth. It was his depiction of Muslim servitude in India and call for concerted action against the British which most concerned Elliot: The proceedings of the English in India are well known in Persia, Russia, and Arabia through merchants. It is well known that Muhammedans are ill treated and reduced to poverty, while the Hindus and Pariars are promoted and elevated; but if the natives could be brought to be of one heart and 1 2

E.J. Elliot, Chief Magistrate and Superintendent of Police to Chief Secretary to Government, February 9, 1839. IOR F/4/79778 (Secret), 256–57. The men whom Elliot had planted in Sahib Amir’s prison cell had posed as fellow inmates. One informant created a fictional account of why he was imprisoned in order to elicit Sahib Amir’s sympathies. Ibid, 259.

28

The Fear of Itinerant Muslims

29

mind, they would easily shake off the yoke they must be taught their own interest dependence and servitude are detestable.3

After he broke his initial silence, Sahib Amir offered his own assessment of various Muslim princes in India in terms of their suitability for the cause of an anti-British jihad.4 He described Nizam Nasir ud-Daula, for instance, as “an old woman,” but noted the existence of a “great prince” – presumably Mubariz ud-Daula – who was fit to command. Sahib Amir is one among several Muslim travelers who were imprisoned at Madras, Nellore, or Hyderabad for their involvement in seditious activities. In their recorded testimonies, these prisoners provided officials with the most detailed accounts of the envisioned conspiracy. Two aspects of their testimonies are of central importance. The first has to do with the global trajectory of their movements and narrations. Sahib Amir and other prisoners described “real” developments in Russia, Persia, Afghanistan, or Arabia and acted as conduits of information to interested parties in India’s Deccan. Their stories appear to have validated British suspicions of Muslims using their global connections to form a united confederacy against them. Second, their travels took them to Hyderabad and brought them into contact with Mubariz ud-Daula, the main coordinator of the conspiracy. As much as globetrotters such as Sahib Amir carried firsthand information about flashpoints of conflict across the Muslim world, their visits to Hyderabad seem to have significantly shaped their accounts of the envisioned jihad against the Company.5 The information they possessed about foreign regimes was eventually cast in the language of conspiracy.

3 4

5

Ibid, 260. Sahib Amir would eventually admit that he often “feigned madness” in order to “get safe from all sorts of hazards.” To the Chief Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George. TNA No. 138 (Secret), February 20, 1839, 197. When using the phrase “the Muslim world,” I am simply referring to a variety of lands during this period that were heavily or predominantly populated by Muslims. The phrase in no way suggests the existence of a monolithic or Pan-Islamic formation uniting Muslims across vast distances. Whereas I use the phrase in this minimal sense, I recognize the important theorizing about Muslim travel, solidarities, conversion, and consciousness in recent studies. See, for instance, Nile Green, “Spacetime and the Muslim Journey West: Industrial Communications in the Making of the ‘Muslim World’,” American Historical Review, Vol. 118, No. 2 (April 2013), 401–29, Ronit Ricci, Islam Translated: Literature, Conversion, and the Arabic Cosmopolis of South and Southeast Asia (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 2011), Eric Beverley, Hyderabad, British India, and the World: Muslim Networks and Minor Sovereignty, c. 1850-1950 (Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press, 2015), and Seema Alavi, Muslim Cosmopolitanism in the Age of Empire (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015). Each of these works, to one extent or another, concerns the production and dissemination of texts by Muslims.

30

The Fear of Itinerant Muslims

I contend that this narrativization bore the fingerprints of Mubariz ud-Daula. The travelers tended to arrive in Hyderabad seeking financial assistance or other forms of patronage. During the course of their stay, they developed a profound sympathy for Mubariz ud-Daula and his jihadist ambitions. The common affinity the prisoners developed with Mubariz points to the role that he likely played in shaping their accounts of the conspiracy. How then do we reconcile the global dimension of conspiracy narratives with their moorings in a particular locality and the aspirations of a particular individual? The picture presented in this chapter and subsequent ones takes us beyond the familiar binaries of rumor vs. fact, real vs. imagined scenarios, or global vs. local agency. It is a picture of a global context shaping the vision of a prince named Mubariz ud-Daula, and of this vision enacting a series of performances within and beyond Hyderabad. While under interrogation, Muslim prisoners who were close associates of Mubariz narrated what was essentially his vision to local authorities. These narrations filtered upward to higher ranks of officialdom, but they also dissipated outward to other princely and Company-ruled territories of South India. When word of the arrests of Muslims and accounts of their alleged conspiracy reached other venues, persons within those venues took advantage of the climate of paranoia to accomplish goals having little or nothing to do with “religion.” The so-called Wahhabi conspiracy thrived on transnational networks of itinerancy and information, but was consistently energized by local interests. No doubt, the conspiracy intersected with networks of the faithful who were committed to Muslim reformist ideology and its propagation, and it did encompass some seditious activities, especially at Hyderabad. For the most part, however, it was local actors who exploited the myth of the dreaded Wahhabi toward various ends. These actors included colonial officials seeking to eliminate princes not of their liking or wishing perhaps to absorb their lucrative lands within the Company’s domains. They also included Muslims hoping to bring down rivals by branding them Wahhabis or implicating them in crimes against the state. This chapter, which sets the stage for the others, describes the global context that generated fears of a Muslim uprising within British India. It begins by describing the unfolding rivalry between Britain and Russia being played out in the Afghan region. Events leading to the outbreak of the First Anglo-Afghan War in April 1839 sent shock waves to various parts of India. Why exactly would conflict along the Afghan Frontier affect Muslims as far south as Hyderabad and other districts of South India?

The Fear of Itinerant Muslims

31

Why would their impact not be centered in more proximate Muslim populations of the North? The next section addresses these questions by describing networks of migration and influence that connected Hyderabad (and neighboring districts) to parts of North India as well as to Central Asia and Arabia. These networks were in place long before the late 1830s, when rumors of a Wahhabi conspiracy began circulating. Amid the unfolding crisis in Afghanistan, British officials in India subjected Muslim migrants to increased scrutiny. John Elphinstone, the Governor of Madras, James Fraser, the Hyderabad Resident, and T.V. Stonhouse, the Principal Collector at Nellore, voiced concerns about Muslim “emissaries” from foreign lands, who were making contact with Indian Muslims in order to incite rebellion. During the course of the investigation, the domains of Company and princely ruled India were bridged in order to address what were seen as immanent threats to British power. Officials within each domain had to work within distinct parameters (as defined by treaty or law). To address Hyderabad’s Wahhabi problem, Hyderabad’s Resident, James Fraser, had to earn the cooperation of Nizam Nasir ud-Daula and his Minister Chandulal. Officials in Nellore and Madras may not have had to work through a prince, but were bound by an evolving criminal code and the procedures of the Sadr Faujdari Adalat (the criminal court. Hereafter, Faujdari Adalat) as they prosecuted treason suspects. Such collaboration, however, was always accompanied by disagreements among officials about the strength of the intelligence or the appropriate course of action. Moreover, it was never entirely clear whether colonial anxiety about Muslim travelers was unique, or whether it belonged to a broader concern about what Kim Wagner termed an “itinerant underworld,” consisting of thugs, vagabonds, and other mobile peoples. The third and final section of the chapter examines testimonies of several Muslim travelers who were arrested and imprisoned in the city of Nellore. They describe the various paths that brought them to South India from places such as Persia, Anatolia, or Mecca. They also provide detailed accounts of the envisioned anti-British uprising in India, which was timed to coincide with the arrival of Russian and Persian troops in Afghanistan. Here, I am less interested in the plausibility of their scenarios than I am with the mapping of their journeys to the Deccan and the information they provided about current events. I conclude the chapter, however, with a discussion of the plausibility of their conspiracy narratives and how best to interpret them.

32

The Fear of Itinerant Muslims

Context and Connectivity The Muslim travelers who were detained by the Company in February and March 1839 captivated their interrogators with vivid accounts of developments in other lands. In order to fully appreciate their testimonies (discussed in the third section), it is necessary to examine the very real events that shaped their political imagination. Several detainees, for instance, made references to conflicts within the Ottoman Empire. For decades, Ottoman sovereignty had been whittled away by heads of Arab provinces, Mamluk rulers in Egypt, and Wahhabi reformers in the Hijaz. In 1811, the Egyptian reformer, Muhammad Ali Pasha, launched a military campaign against the Wahhabis who controlled the Hijaz. At the time, he had acted as the Ottoman Sultan’s regional governor of Egypt. By 1839, Muhammad Ali would enter into a Second Egyptian Crisis (1839–41) aided by his son, Ibrahim Pasha. This time, he fought the Ottomans for complete control over both Egypt and Syria. The British, fearing that a dismantled Ottoman Empire would invite Russian advances in the Eastern Mediterranean, refused to back Muhammad Ali and threw their weight behind the Ottomans instead.6 Rising tensions between Russian and British interests in Central Asia weighed even more heavily on the minds of Company officials and Muslim travelers. In contrast to the Ottoman conflict involving the Arabian Wahhabis, the politics of the unfolding Great Game between Britain and Russia in Afghanistan would eventually enlist the so-called “Indian Wahhabis” (i.e., the followers of the martyred Sayyid Ahmad Barelvi), who would come to the defense of the Barakzai leader, Dost Muhammad Khan. Company officials came to regard developments in Afghanistan as posing a more immediate threat to their position in India. As a result, they monitored the movements of Muslims far more closely. They arrested those whom they suspected of capitalizing on the unfolding Afghan crisis by inciting rebellion within India. Great Game Politics By the 1830s, the British were resolute in their efforts to increase their commercial and political presence in Afghanistan. They viewed the region 6

Marshall Hodgson, The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in a World Civilization (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974), 228–30. Rising European power, coupled with threats from within the Empire, is what set in motion the Tanzimat reforms of the Ottoman Sultan. These reforms sought to modernize the Ottoman state to more effectively address both challenges. Eugene Rogan, The Arabs: A History (New York: Basic Books, 2009), 79–83, 89.

Context and Connectivity

33

not only as a gateway to a lucrative Indus River trade but also as one that would give the British a tactical advantage when dealing with rival regimes. Situated between Ranjit Singh’s Sikh kingdom, a weakening Persian Empire headed by the Qajar dynasty, and the Tsarist Russian Empire, the Afghan region served as a vital buffer zone for British India. A cluster of policy-makers within the ranks of the Company used the rhetoric of free trade and the threat of Russian expansion as a way of selling Afghanistan as a region of great strategic significance.7 Whereas the Russians at this time had no direct military involvement in the region, they had defeated Persian armies in wars of 1813 and 1828, after which they annexed territory in what is now Armenia and Azerbaijan. Thereafter, the Russians came to exert significant influence over the court of Tehran. John McNeill, the British Minister to Tehran, believed that the Russians were using the Qajar state as a tool for encroaching into Central Asian territory.8 In 1837, the Russians had supported the Persians in their unsuccessful attack on the Central Asian city of Herat. This sounded alarms within British circles that Russian influence over Persia could eventually pose a threat to British India. John Hobhouse, the President of the Company’s Board of Control, conveyed the gravity of the situation: If the Shah should take Herat, we shall not have a moment to lose, . . . We must secure Afghanistan able to check and to punish intrigues carried on there against our peace in India able to exclude foreign agents and emissaries from [entering] that country. As our security in India will be very greatly diminished and our expenses there very largely increased.9

For Hobhouse, a Persian army at Herat would have a domino effect, which could spark an infiltration of hostile Muslim emissaries into India. Officials in the Deccan would employ the same language of “foreign agents” and “emissaries” when referring to suspicious-looking Muslim travelers. Such concerns persisted into the following year. Lord Auckland’s personal secretary, John

7

8

9

The aim of this “Forward School,” according to Benjamin Hopkins, was to recast the Afghan region from what had once been seen as a “void” into a “forward base of British power,” thereby deterring Russian advances. Benjamin Hopkins, The Making of Modern Afghanistan (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2008), 39–40. Alexander Morrison, “Twin Imperial Disasters: The Invasions of Khiva and Afghanistan in the Russian and British Official Mind, 1839–1842,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 48, No. 1 (Jan. 2014), 261–62. Letter from John Cam Hobhouse, President of Board of Control, dated April 13, 1838. IOR Papers on Affairs in Persia and Afghanistan, 1838–1839. Broughton Papers, Add. 35469, 8.

34

The Fear of Itinerant Muslims

Russell Colvin, contended that the British army needed to deter the Persians from moving toward Herat by establishing a presence in Kabul: I very exceedingly doubt their venturing to Herat while our opposition is known to be so near. In the mean time, may you have pushed on, and secured the whole of our base by the occupation of Cabool. A complete and rapid settlement there would be a most effective check on the Persian move towards Herat.10

Because of these Persian advances, the Company’s stake in the affairs of Central Asia became more and more intertwined with its security concerns within India. With the Russian threat in Central Asia looming in the background, the Company also found it necessary to counter the growing influence of Ranjit Singh’s regime in the Punjab region (hereafter, the Punjab). In spite of its long-standing alliance with the Sikh leader, the Company was aware of his ambitions for expansion. Beginning with his occupation of Lahore in 1799, Ranjit Singh proceeded to subvert more than twenty principalities in the surrounding plains. He later defeated Afghan forces at Multan and Kashmir and came to dominate the Durrani successors of Ahmed Shah at Kabul. Increasingly, the Company considered it wise to contain his regime firmly between British-ruled India and a British-backed Afghan polity. Ongoing conflict between the Sikhs and Afghans in the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa region (hereafter, the Khyber) allowed the British at any given time to support one side in order to contain the other. By this time, however, the Russians were playing a similar game.11 Aware of the interests of the Afghans in defending their domains against the Sikhs, both the Russians and the British sent envoys to Kabul to sound out the situation. In the fall of 1837, Captain Alexander Burnes visited the region to draft a treaty that would resolve tensions between the Afghans and the Sikhs and stabilize the British hand in the region. Burnes clearly viewed the Barakzai ruler, Dost Muhammad Khan, as the true representative of the Afghan peoples and, on account of his political skills, the most suitable ally for the Company. Lord Auckland, however, was listening more keenly to William Macnaghten, the Company’s envoy to Kabul who 10 11

J.R. Colvin to Lieutenant Col. Wade, 13 June 1839. MSS Eur 470/2. See in the same source the notes of Alexander Burnes on policy toward Afghanistan, from July 1838. The strength of the Sikh regime under Ranjit Singh inclined Auckland to favor ties to his regime over any potential alliance with Dost Muhammad. Auckland Colvin, John Russell Colvin: The Last Lieutenant Governor of the Northwest under the Company (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1895), 99–100. For a discussion of the extent of Ranjit Singh’s influence, see also J.S. Grewal, The Sikhs of the Panjab (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), 100–3.

Context and Connectivity

35

promoted the cause of the Sadozai leader, Shah Shuja. Ignoring the advice of Burnes, Auckland notified Dost Muhammad that no alliance with him was in the making. It was then that Dost Muhammad welcomed the Russian envoy, Captain Ivan Vitkevich, to his court.12 The possibility of an alliance between Russia and Dost Muhammad was more than what the British could tolerate. When word of Vitkevich’s visit to Kabul reached authorities at Calcutta, they came to believe it necessary to invade the Afghan region. Upon the death of Ranjit Singh in 1839 and the ensuing chaos of the Punjab, the Company became all the more convinced of the need to control the entire northwest frontier. Lord Auckland launched the First Anglo-Afghan War in order to install the exiled prince Shah Shuja, not Dost Muhammad, to the throne in Kabul. William Dalrymple describes the massive failures of intelligence, tactics, ethics, and common sense that underlay Auckland’s launching and prosecution of this war. The sacrifices that were made to place Shuja on the throne were followed by the massive costs of sustaining his fledgling regime. Operations in Afghanistan competed for resources with the Company’s First Opium War (1839–42) in China. Shortly after the Company had installed Shuja, Auckland diverted vital military and financial resources (including a detachment of the Bengal army) to fight the Opium War.13 This left the occupying force with few resources to survive the Afghan winter or defend themselves against the onslaught of rebel forces, allied with Dost Muhammad and his son, Akbar Khan. The war resulted in immense trauma and casualties for the ill-equipped Company regiments and in humiliating defeats. Rebel forces framed their endeavor to retake Kabul as a holy crusade against farangi (foreigner) infidels. Portraying Shuja as a puppet of the farangis, they eventually killed him, not long after they had slaughtered both Burnes and Macnaghten.14 As they ambushed detachments of the Company’s army at various outposts, the rebels developed stronger ties to Sayyid Ahmad’s mujahidin (religious warriors). Some sections of the mujahidin assisted Dost Muhammad in his jihad against the British, an

12

13 14

Like Burnes, Vitkevich had also overstepped his brief by promising Russian support to the Afghans, without the official backing of St. Petersburg. See Morrison, “Twin Imperial Disasters,” 278–79 and Hopkins, The Making of Modern Afghanistan, 64–65. See also William Dalrymple, Return of the King: The Battle for Afghanistan, 1839–1842 (London: Bloomsbury, 2012), 50–62. Dalrymple, Return of a King, 197. By this time, the British had completely abandoned their princely ally, Shuja, and were now keen on retreating from Afghanistan. Ibid, 314–75.

36

The Fear of Itinerant Muslims

effort that restored him in 1842 to the throne at Kabul.15 Hyderabad’s Mubariz ud-Daula was reported to have maintained communication with Dost Muhammad and the reformist khalifas at Sindh, who rallied to his cause. The weighty implications of these developments were felt in many parts of India. Auckland Colvin, the Company’s Lieutenant General of the Northwest (1887–92), would later liken reverberations of the Afghan War to “tremors” that pass periodically through the Himalayas and are felt across vast distances: While Captain Burnes was retracting his steps, there passed over India one of those periodical waves of emotion with which all who are acquainted with the Peninsula are familiar. It stretched from the Sutlej to Mysore, from Bombay to the Nepal boundary . . . With a Persian army accompanied by a Russian minister at Herat, and a Russian emissary at Kabul, such a phenomenon was too significant to be disregarded. In the remotest Deccan . . . Muhammedan newssheets published appeals to the faithful against the unbeliever. In the village, bazar, the great man’s reception rooms, there was a pleasurable expectation that some novel excitement was about to be felt.16

The relationship between real events in Arabia or Afghanistan and Muslim emissaries allegedly spreading jihadist messages throughout India is not a straightforward one. As tempting as it may be to regard the TurkoEgyptian and Afghan conflicts as creating a push factor (as Hobhouse had feared) that sent radical exiles by land and sea to the Deccan, these conflicts sparked an arguably greater threat to Company rule in India and an essential aspect of its information order, namely rumor. In a rumorridden Indian society, the ability to contain or quell rumor, particular those concerning foreign armies that could challenge British power, was essential to maintaining British prestige.17 Benjamin Hopkins goes so far as

15

16

17

Among them were troops led by Nasiruddin, the khalifa at Delhi. He opted to aid Dost Muhammad with an army of roughly 1,000 men, but other maulvis “dissented and returned home.” (n/a) “The Wahhabis in India, No. II,” The Calcutta Review, Volume LI, No. CI (1870), 188. Auckland Colvin was the son of John Russell Colvin, who served as Lord Auckland’s personal secretary from 1837 to 1839 and as Lieutenant General of the Northwest during the 1857 Rebellion. Colvin, John Russell Colvin, 100. Hopkins, The Making of Modern Afghanistan, 42. According to C.A. Bayly, bazaar or “rumor mongers” were “an identifiable group of people” who leaked information to a wider population. C.A. Bayly, Empire and Information, 1780–1870 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 19. Yang describes a “rumor nexus” in colonial India consisting of verbal and nonverbal media, which shaped popular reactions against the introduction of the census in Bihar. See Anand Yang, “A Conversation of Rumors: The Language of Popular Mentalities in Late Nineteenth Century Colonial India,” Journal of Social History, Vol. 20, No. 3 (Spring 1987), 485–505.

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to state, “the chimera of the Russians was easier for British policy-makers to grapple than the reality of rumor in the Indian bazaar.”18 That Colvin would mention the “remotest Deccan” in his observations provides some indication of the pathways through which these rumors had circulated. Why the Deccan? Accounts of an imminent Russian and Persian advance or of Muhammad Ali Pasha’s ambitions in Egypt and Syria circulated through networks of migrants who traveled by land and sea to the Deccan.19 Some, such as Muhammad Abdullah or Shaikh Abdul Ruzzaq (whose stories are discussed later in the chapter), had traveled from Arabia to Bombay, and then to Hyderabad and other regions of the South. Others had crossed a different axis, extending from Baghdad through Central Asia, North India, and finally to Hyderabad. During the 1830s, the journeys of these Muslims kept them informed about inter-empire rivalries of the day involving the British, Russians, Persians, and Ottomans.20 Their travels to India, however, do not appear to have arisen from any need to escape conflict-ridden environments. Rather, they belong to well-established patterns of migration, which brought Persians, Arabs, and Afghans to the subcontinent for a wide range of reasons.21 Three circuits of migration were particularly significant in linking India’s Deccan region to other parts of the world: (1) The Hadrami Sayyids, who traveled from Yemen to Hyderabad by way of Bombay; (2) Indo-Afghans, who moved between Central Asia and Rohilkhand and the Deccan; and (3) the followers of Sayyid Ahmad, who called themselves the Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah. Their campaigns linked India’s northwest frontier to North and South Indian districts. During the 1830s, it was the 18 19

20

21

Hopkins, The Making of Modern Afghanistan, 42. The initial warnings about a potential Muslim uprising in India were issued in February 1839. But as late as October, officials continued to refer to a sense of community alarm “concerning [a] possible hostile invasion of Company’s territory.” TNA No. 147 (Secret), October 8, 1839, 3609. The movements of Muslims across these regions of inter-empire rivalry are noted by Seema Alavi in “Fugitive Mullahs and Outlawed Fanatics: Indian Muslims in Nineteenth Century Trans-Asiatic Imperial Rivalries,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 45, No. 6 (2011), 1337–82. The trans-Asiatic movements of Muslims between India, Central Asia, the Middle East, and Southeast Asia are widely noted in recent scholarship. See, for example, C.A. Bayly, “India and West Asia, c. 1700–1830,” Asian Affairs, Vol. 19, No. 1 (1988), 3–19; Scott Levi, The Indian Diaspora in Central Asia and its Trade, 1550–1900 (Leiden: Brill, 2002); Alavi, “Fugitive Mullahs and Outlawed Fanatics,” 1337–82; and Nile Green, Bombay Islam: The Religious Economy of the West Indian Ocean, 1840–1915 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011). See also Richard Eaton, Islamic History as Global History (Washington: American Historical Association, 1990), 22–26; and Markovits, Pouchepadass, Subrahmanyam (eds.), Society and Circulation: Mobile People and Itinerant Cultures in South Asia, 1750–1950 (London: Anthem, 2006), 131–62; and Ricci, Islam Translated.

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drawn to Hyderabad because of the reputation of the Nizam as the leader of Muslims of British India. Even though this authority was largely symbolic, the Hyderabad Nizams would legitimate their position globally by remaining linked to “trans-oceanic Muslim circuits.”24 Once in India, Hadrami migrants would use their Arab origins and knowledge of the Qur’an to claim higher status than Muslims of Indian origin. As trusted military servants, they often received land grants, or jagirs, from the Nizams of Hyderabad; and as jagirdars, they would collect revenue from the returns of that land and govern it by means of a range of appointed officials.25 Not all Arab migrants to Hyderabad were Hadramis, but by establishing ties to the Nizam’s Dominions, Hadramis paved the way for other Arabs, who would make their way to Hyderabad in search of various opportunities. In this way, Arabs in Hyderabad represent an important point of intersection between itinerant Muslims and the sedentary, landholding society that comprised a significant portion of the Nizam’s Dominions. Afghan migrants also established important links to India’s Deccan. By means of their diverse roles as horse traders, nomadic warriors, and state builders, Afghans had long played a vital role in integrating the affairs of Central Asia with those of India. Some Afghans were able to use their profits from the horse trade to establish small states.26 The Yusafzai tribesmen, who settled in the North Indian hill region, established a state known as Rohilkhand. Jos Gommans observes that these Rohillas (“men of 24

25

26

See Eric Beverley, “Muslim Modern: Hyderabad State, 1883–1948,” Ph.D. Dissertation at Harvard University, October 2007, 68–69. According to Nile Green, the prestige of the Muslim Deccan is reflected in the writings of Hyderabad’s Sufis. Across their writings, Hyderabad was central to an Islamic heritage that traced itself back to the Prophet Muhammad. See Nile Green, “Defending the Sufis in Nineteenth Century Hyderabad,” Islamic Studies, Vol. 47, No. 3 (2008), 329. These officials assumed titles of tahsildars, taluqdars, and subedars. Leif Manger, “Hadramis in Hyderabad: From Winners to Losers,” Asian Journal of Social Science, Vol. 35, No. 4/5 (2007), 410–12. Scholars have described the eighteenth-century context of Afghan expansion in different ways. According to Chris Bayly, the weakening of older empires released tribal communities from the constraints those empires had imposed on them. A series of “tribal breakouts” resulted in waves of emigration by Rohilla cavalry warriors and the establishment of new Indo-Afghan regimes in Central and South India. Bayly, “India and West Asia, c. 1700–1830,” 5–9. Jos Gommans, however, points out how Afghans had initially risen to prominence by exploiting the commercial networks fostered by imperial regimes. The vibrancy of their trade and their expansion within India built on the status that Afghans had once enjoyed under the Mughals. Afghan invasions into North India during the late eighteenth century further weakened Mughal authority, thus allowing smaller regimes (for instance, Marathas, Sikhs, and Hyderabad state) to achieve greater degrees of autonomy in decades to come. Jos Gommans, The Rise of the Indo-Afghan Empire, c1710–1780 (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1999), 20–21. See also C.A. Bayly, Imperial Meridian: The British Empire and the World, 1780–1830 (New York: Longman, 1989), 39.

40

The Fear of Itinerant Muslims

the hills”), as they came to be called, embodied a “dual economy,” which merged their roles as itinerant warriors and horse traders with land cultivation and sedentary state formation.27 To an even greater extent than their Arab counterparts, Afghan migration patterns laid foundations for the Wahhabi fears of the 1830s. This is ironic, considering the Arabian origins of Wahhabism proper. Sayyid Ahmad himself served as a warrior for the Afghan leader, Amir Khan.28 Later, Afghan warriors formed important ties to Sayyid Ahmad’s reformist movement, thus integrating their tribal campaigns in India with a commitment to propagating reformist doctrines. Several Indo-Afghan states that survived into the nineteenth century, including Tonk, Bhopal, Kurnool, and Cuddapah, had been established along Indo-Afghan horse trade routes. The British would implicate these very regimes in treasonous plots inspired by Wahhabism. The third circuit that linked the Deccan to a wider world was the highly organized missionary network of the Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah. During the 1830s, these reformers established a headquarters in Patna (located on the banks of the Ganges, in today’s eastern state of Bihar) from where they assigned preachers and khalifas (deputies) to venues throughout India. These khalifas were responsible for raising funds, recruiting and training volunteers, and sending out missionaries to propagate their reformist message.29 Several of these khalifas were sent to South India. Among them were Muhammad Ali Rampuri, who preached in Madras and Arcot, and two brothers, Wilayat Ali and Inayat Ali, who toured Hyderabad and its 27 28

29

Gommans, The Rise of the Indo-Afghan Empire, 13–16, 145–50, 177. After living in Delhi under the tutelage of the Waliullah family, Sayyid Ahmad spent several years serving the army of the Afghan cavalryman, Amir Khan. The British eventually subdued Amir Khan and forced him in 1817 to sign a treaty, whereby Amir Khan became the Nawab of Tonk. After the army of Amir Khan was disbanded, Sayyid Ahmad exerted his spiritual influence over many Afghan soldiers, winning their admiration on account of his piety and simple lifestyle. Because of Sayyid Ahmad’s influence on the Afghan soldiery of Tonk, the city eventually became an important center of Muhammadi influence. Mohiuddin Ahmad, Saiyid Ahmad Shahid: His Life and Mission (Lucknow: Academy of Islamic Research and Publications, 1975), 50. Some of his disciples viewed his collaboration with Amir Khan as Sayyid Ahmad’s first attempt to establish a Muslim state governed according to sharia law. Barbara Daly Metcalf, Islamic Revival in British India: Deoband, 1860–1900 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982), 54. The movement had also developed a sophisticated scheme for transferring funds. They employed a system of bank drafts, or hundies, through which large sums of money could be transferred long distances. Muhammadi deputies deposited large sums of cash into banks in Delhi, Patna, or Banares that were run by Hindu bankers. By such means, they were able to transfer funds to the northwest frontier to support the jihad against the Sikhs. Ahmad, Saiyid Ahmad Shahid, 310–11. On this point, Ahmad draws heavily from W.W. Hunter, The Indian Musalmans: Second Edition (London: Trubner and Co., 1872), 143 and Qeyamuddin Ahmad, The Wahabi Movement in India (Calcutta: Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyay, 1966).

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vicinity. Their roles in any given place appear to have been for a fixed period. In 1831, Wilayat Ali replaced Muhammad Ali as khalifa of the Deccan region.30 Muhammad Ali would continue to tour South India, however, amassing a considerable following at Madras, Arcot, and Nellore. During his stint in Hyderabad, it was Wilayat Ali who is believed to have made a profound impact on Mubaraz ud-Daula, stirring his zeal for rebellion against the British (a point discussed in the next chapter). Once established in a particular venue, Muslim reformers distributed their printed propaganda in Urdu or read it aloud in mosques. Hyderabad and Nellore emerged as two distinct, but connected centers of Muhammadi reformist activity, with each possessing its own leaders and followings. Within both venues, clerics read letters of exhortation written by reputed khalifas.31 At Nellore, devotees read aloud letters of the charismatic Muhammad Ali in order to extol him as a great example of piety and recruit Muslims to join the movement. At the peak of Wahhabi activity, every mosque and bazaar in Nellore was reportedly ablaze with Wahhabi propaganda.32 These three streams of connectivity – Arabs, Afghans, and reformers – are anchored in distinct histories, but undoubtedly involve elements of cross-pollination and interaction. Followers of Sayyid Ahmad, for instance, established strong ties to Afghan warriors along the Frontier and drew on financiers of various backgrounds to fund their campaigns, including those that extended their influence to South India. Some Arab migrants to India, particularly in Hyderabad, joined the ranks of the Tariqah-iMuhammadiyah. Several Arabs, as we shall see in the next chapter, became key advisors to Mubariz ud-Daula and preached reformist doctrines to Muslim troops at Secunderabad. Since the eighteenth century, Arab and Afghan soldiers had flooded the military labor markets of the Deccan.33 As the Company army subjugated Mysore and Hyderabad, these soldiers became increasingly disenfranchised.34 Posing a huge burden to the 30 31 32

33 34

Faisal Ahmed Bhatkali Nadwi, Tahreek-e-Aazadi Mein Ulama Ka Kirdar (Lucknow: Academy of Islamic Research and Publication, 2003), 461–62. By 1838, Hyderabad would be recognized as the headquarters of the Deccan’s Wahhabi movement, with Mubariz ud-Daula coordinating campaigns across other regions of the South. Sunil Chander, “From a Pre-Colonial Order to a Princely State: Hyderabad in Transition, c1748–1865,” Ph.D. Dissertation submitted to the Faculty of History, Cambridge University, 1987, 172–73, note 121. Gommans, The Rise of the Indo-Afghan Empire, 35. Warrior elites who had once been useful to the Company army during its wars against the kingdom of Mysore eventually became disenfranchised. After making a loyal princely state of Mysore, the Company proceeded to curtail the power of local chieftans of South India, known as poligars.

42

The Fear of Itinerant Muslims

Nizams (who had few resources to employ them), some eventually developed sympathies for Mubariz and his jihadist ambitions. These points of contact may tempt us to regard the Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah as a global movement, uniting Indian, Arabian, and Central Asian domains. They may also incline us to overinterpret the ties of these reformers and their adherents to the geopolitics of empires. Each of these readings, however, would be misguided. Moreover, they would distract us from the local factors – in some instances anchored in the affairs of relatively unknown districts of South India – which managed to manufacture fears of a global Wahhabi threat. In her recent study of Muslim cosmopolitanism during the nineteenth century, Seema Alavi describes the role of itinerant Arabs in establishing vital links between the great empires of the day. As they crossed the borders of Ottoman, Russian, Persian, and British domains, these cosmopolitan Muslims were able to exploit imperial rivalries to advance their own agendas.35 Her study is centered on the lives of five Muslims who fled India in the aftermath of the 1857 Rebellion. She applies the core concepts of her study, however, to events of the early nineteenth century, including the influence of Muslim reformers within the Deccan. Religious reformers such as Sayyid Ahmad and his Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah, according to Alavi, were among those Muslims who thrived at the interstices of empires. Their mobility and spiritual convictions served their goal of forging an alternative “Arabicist” imperium, which called for the global unity of Muslims.36 The Arabicist vision of the reformers was scripture based, purist, and centered on the notion of tauhid (the unity of God). Arabicism filled a vacuum created by the fall of the more eclectic Persianate Mughal Empire and presented Muslims with an alternative to Western imperialism. Instead of regarding reformers purely as “religious” agents, Alavi stresses their multiple roles as traders, financiers, warriors, and preachers. The cosmopolitan Muslims of her study signal the new prominence of the individual in “brokering empires and shaping society and politics from the shadows of empire.”37 Alavi correctly observes that Muhammadi reformers played a vital role in linking the politics of the Afghan Frontier to those of the subcontinent. Long after Sayyid Ahmad was martyred at Balakot (1831), his mujahidin

35

Mesrob Vartavarian, “Warriors and the Company State in South India, 1799–1801,” South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies, Vol. 37, No. 2 (June 2014), 212–13. 36 37 Alavi, Muslim Cosmopolitanism in the Age of Empire, 7–8. Ibid, 52. Ibid, 16.

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continued to wage jihad against British forces in Afghanistan, even coming to the aid of Dost Muhammad Khan in his attempts to retake Kabul. Most provocatively, Alavi folds developments in the Deccan into a global politics of “Arabicism.” Reformers, she contends, “reinvented the Arabicist tradition with a range of motivations, and challenged the older Persianate encasements of knowledge and power.”38 Sayyid Ahmad’s followers, she observes, developed a mutually beneficial relationship with the South Indian polities of Hyderabad, Mysore, and Arcot, but these ties were not always related to religion. Alavi portrays Hyderabad’s Mubariz ud-Daula as a “jobber-entrepreneur” who joined the Muhammadi movement in order to advance his own, temporal ambitions of unseating his brother, the Nizam of Hyderabad. At the same time, Alavi situates his personal ambitions within an overarching politics of Arabicism: [He] was an important link in the network of regional satraps who were knitted together by the Arabicist cultural grid laid out by warrior reformists who doubled as traders and military labor. These included the nawabs of Kurnool in the Tamil territory, of Arcot in the Karnatak region, and of Tonk in Rajputana. The issue was not just about one man but about the Arabicist tradition and the fast expanding networks that this man epitomized.39

In their attempts to confront the Deccan’s “Wahhabi sedition” (or as I have termed it, the “Wahhabi conspiracy”), colonial officials, according to Alavi, were actually grappling with a more “colossal task” of confronting the Arabicist imperium and its call for universal Muslim unity. Alavi’s study effectively captures the irony of how Muslim travelers could forge a new cosmopolis as they navigated the boundaries of competing empires during the late nineteenth century. Where I am inclined to disagree with Alavi, however, is in the application of her Arabicist paradigm to the influence of Muslim reformers in the early nineteenth-century Deccan. Sayyid Ahmad’s movement was anchored in Indo-Afghan warrior networks of the Frontier. These clans can hardly be said to have signed on to a politics of Arabicism. The Muhammadi reformers strained to transmit their vision to Afghan clans, who adhered to customs at variance with sharia precepts.40 Afghan involvement with Sayyid’s campaign was marked by opportunism, compromise – and eventually betrayal – more than any 38 39 40

Ibid, 47. Ibid, 51–52. Note: Kurnool was not in “the Tamil territory,” but was one of four “Ceded Districts” in a heavily Telugu-speaking region of what is now called Rayalaseema. Tariq Hasan, Colonialism and the Call to Jihad in British India (Delhi: Sage, 2015), 28.

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ideological (or culturally Arabicist) solidarity.41 Sayyid Ahmad and his reformers were scripturalist and purist in their interpretation of Islam, but this alone does not make them Arabicist. As much as the reformers preached the unity of God and attacked local practices of Indian Muslims, their campaign did not call for a global unity of Muslims, grounded in the umma (universal community).42 In this connection, Alavi appears to have read anachronistically the Pan-Islamist ideology of the late nineteenth century into the politics of the 1830s Deccan. Two other factors prevent me from embracing Alavi’s Arabicist paradigm relative to events discussed in this study. First, those accused of collaborating with Mubariz ud-Daula include the Nawab of Kurnool and the Jagirdar of Udayagiri (discussed in Chapters 3 and 4). These men headed Indo-Afghan regimes of South India and were by no means Arabicist in their orientation. The fact that these regimes were implicated in the Wahhabi conspiracy has less to do with the clash of imperia described by Alavi than with the inclination of colonial officials to apply the label “Wahhabi” broadly, even to Muslim nawabs holding no ties to the reformers. Another problem that I see with the Arabicist paradigm concerns the salient role of the King of Persia, Muhammad Shah, in the narrations of two of the alleged conspirators. The Persian prisoner, Sahib Amir, quite understandably made Persia central to his narration, but so did the Sikh prisoner, Dhumdas. Dhumdas claimed that after the envisioned revolt, India would become a “tributary of the King of Persia,” who would appoint Mubariz ud-Daula as the Subedar of the Deccan.43 Such references, along with the eclectic assemblage of princes who are believed to have joined the anti-British confederacy, stand at odds with Alavi’s notion of a purist, Arabicist imperium replacing an accommodative Persianate one.

Suspicious-Looking Travelers As tensions in the Afghan region heated up in connection to the Great Game, Company officials became particularly concerned about wandering 41 42 43

This is a point made by Marc Gaborieau, Le Mahdi incompris, 209–11, and Ayesha Jalal, Partisans of Allah, 45, 52, 67. Alavi, Muslim Cosmopolitanism, 45, 52, 67. A memorandum. Communication from the Madras government regarding a supposed confederacy of the native states and chiefs of India against the British government. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 228–30. See also: Letter to the Chief Secretary with the Right Honorable the Governor General, Simlah (no author, but most likely James Fraser, the Resident of Hyderabad). IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 8.

Suspicious-Looking Travelers

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emissaries who were spreading disaffection toward the British within India. Officials of both princely and Company-ruled territories cooperated to address the problem of “suspicious foreigners.” Hyderabad’s James Fraser, Nellore’s T.V. Stonhouse, and John Elphinstone, the Governor of Madras, maintained a robust correspondence and shared information about itinerant foreigners and their testimonies.44 Their anxieties over itinerancy stemmed not only from the trans-Asian politics discussed previously in the chapter but also from more general concerns about the potentially destabilizing effects of itinerant peoples. From the range of Muslims the Company detained and interrogated, it is not entirely clear whether the Company’s main concern was with the threat of reformist ideology per se or with that of itinerant Muslims possessing ties to foreign regimes. Some of the detainees clearly had become converts to Sayyid Ahmad’s Muhammadi movement, whereas others only had been suspected of acting as spies or emissaries. T.H. Maddock, Secretary to the Governor General of India, noted the dilemma: “Mubariz ud-Daula is opposed to orthodox Islam and to British authority. But of the emissaries, they don’t know which if any are committed to Wahhabism.”45 While not all Muslim detainees professed a commitment to reformist ideology, most of them had either visited Hyderabad or included Mubariz ud-Daula in their narrations of the conspiracy. In contrast to the trouble that a sedentary prince such as Mubariz ud-Daula could stir up, itinerant Muslims generated for the Company a different type of anxiety. At one level, the Company suspected them of acting as agents of transnational opposition to British power. This anxiety about foreigners is evident in the fact that officials appeared to single out persons of Turkic, Persian, Arab, Egyptian, or Afghan origins: It has been brought to the attention of this government that a very significant number of foreigners were traversing the provinces subject to the [Madras] Presidency without any ostensible object that they have followed the same route and gave very much the same account of themselves. . .. The attention of collectors and magistrates have been 44

45

Intelligence briefings of the Secret Department of the Government of Madras indicate that authorities at Bombay and Bengal were routinely included in correspondence concerning the potential uprising. See: Newsletter from the Deputy Secretary to the Government of India with the Governor General. TNA No. 152 (Secret), December 10, 1839, 5387. Even in Mysore, officials described a sense of “community alarm concerning a possible hostile invasion of the Company’s territory.” TNA No. 147 (Secret), October 8, 1839, 3623. Note of the Officiating Secretary on the Confederation against the British Government. T.H. Maddock, Secretary to Government of India with the Governor General. Simlah, April 18, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 365.

46

The Fear of Itinerant Muslims directed to this circumstance [that] many persons from the northern parts of Hindustan . . . Caubool . . . Persia, Egypt and Turkey were arrested, questioned and in some instances detained.46

Beyond the suspicion that itinerant Muslims were actively assisting Britain’s enemies was a more general sense that itinerant people, almost by definition, were those who were up to no good.47 Their movements were seen as posing a threat to a more manageable, sedentary society. The Company’s campaign to eliminate thuggee illustrates its rising anxiety about itinerant peoples. Thugs were only one element, according to Kim Wagner, of an “itinerant underworld” consisting of a wide range of wandering communities that traveled the roads of India.48 Determined to access and police this underworld, the Company conducted trials and executions of thugs in North Indian districts as well as in the Deccan. In 1836, there were 53 trials of thugs at Jabalpur and 17 at Hyderabad, together resulting in 37 executions. By 1839, the government claimed to have largely suppressed the practice in the Deccan.49 In a manner similar to their representation of thugs, officials assigned to itinerant Muslims an aura of secrecy, deception, and exotic difference. Representations of mobile Muslims, however, stopped short of defining them as a criminal class.50 Nellore’s Stonhouse and Hyderabad’s Fraser made frequent references to how Muslim emissaries had disguised themselves as faqirs.51 As wandering holy men, faqirs had long played a

46 47

48 49 50

51

NAI, Government of India, Secret Consultation July 17, No. 3 (Foreign, 1839), 2–3. A letter from E.J. Elliot of Madras to the Principal Collector (PC) at Malabar referred to “many persons from Egypt and other places” who have entered the Madras territories “without any ostensible object.” To the PC and Magistrate of the Malabar Coast, TNA No. 138 (Secret), February 26, 328. Kim Wagner, Thuggee: Banditry and the British in Early Nineteenth-Century India (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2007), 124–27. Report on Thugs. India (Political), No. 40 of 1838. IOR E/4/756, 84–86. The notion of “criminal communities,” according to Radhika Singha, was central to the Company’s judicial initiatives in India. Communities so designated warranted unique punitive measures because they stood beyond the pale of mainstream society, thereby forfeiting ordinary protections under the law. See Singha, “‘Providential’ Circumstances: The Thuggee Campaign of the 1830s and Legal Innovation,” Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 27, No. 1 (Feb. 1993), 84–85. Whereas the term “Wahhabi” represented for the British a more threatening global presence of the Muslim “other,” the term faqir, according to Marcia Hermansen, intersected with both Hindu and Sufi ideals of world renunciation. Through the British gaze, the faqir could conjure notions of “the exotic, the peculiar, and behavior that diverges from modern European norms.” Hermansen, “Wahhabis, Fakirs and Others: Reciprocal Classifications and the Transformation of Intellectual Categories,” in Jamal Malik (ed.), Perspectives of Mutual Encounters in South Asian History, 1760–1860 (Leiden: Brill, 2000), 35.

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vital role in inspiring Muslim troops within the “barracks Islam” of the Deccan.52 In light of their traditional ties to Muslim armies, officials grew concerned about their potential for inspiring the troops to mutiny. The Company detained several men who identified themselves as faqirs or as beggars. As much as authorities such as Elphinstone had sounded alarms concerning the political ties of these wandering holy men, their testimonies revealed no such ties. One detainee, named Yathim Ali Shah, for instance, traveled from Arabia to Baghdad, Bombay, and Madras. His goal was to find a community of Muslims through which he could be supported through begging: I am a faqir. Many years ago I left my country and proceeded to Khurasan in order to visit the tomb of a saint called Imam Ali Mosa Raza. I was at [Mosul?]. From thence I repaired to Baghdad where I passed one year. Then I went to Karbala where I halted for one month. The next place of my residence was Najaf. I visited Samaria and Jerusalem where I remained for a month and then I went to Mecca and Medina. I returned by Basrah, Muscat and Bombay. Close to the Fort of Bombay there is a makan of a faqir named Bismila Shah, where I passed the Ramazan before last. I set out for Madras . . . I did not visit Cuddapah or Kurnool. . . . It is 2 months since I came to the Black Town Mosque, where I put up for about 15 days. Then I occupied a room in the small mosque in Triplicane, where one Mahomed Hazim gave me food for 3 days. I am now living in the grand Mosque.53

Yathim’s travels, then, ultimately brought him to Triplicane (a coastal enclave of Madras) and Black Town, two neighborhoods in Madras where large numbers of Muslims had settled, particularly after 1766, when the Nawab of Arcot had shifted his residence to Madras. Later in his testimony, Yathim described his stay in the palace at Udayagiri, where the Jagirdar, Abbas Ali Khan, had warmly hosted him for several days. The Company (as described in Chapter 4) was led to investigate Ali Khan’s treasonous activities, partly on account of rumors that he was hosting 52

53

Muslim troops had long revered faqirs as bearers of supernatural power that could assist them in their military campaigns. Nile Green describes a symbiotic relationship between the bodily training of the Muslim soldier and the ascetic practices of faqirs. Far from being removed from the worldliness of military life, faqirs had long been incorporated into networks of patronage that formed the heart and soul of Muslim regiments. Their patronage of soldiers granted them inspiration and protection, while the clientage of soldiers and their children supported their livelihood. Nile Green, Islam and the Army in Colonial India: Sepoy Religion in the Service of Empire (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 25, 34. The examination of Yathim Ali Shah, a Native of Multan in the Panjab before E.J. Elliot, Justice of the Peace. TNA No. 139 (Secret), March 5, 1839, 447–49.

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“suspicious foreigners” at his palace.54 This particular foreigner seems only to have been seeking a few days of food and lodging. In addition to the precise itineraries of the travelers, authorities also drew attention to the cryptic messages, charms, amulets, and rings carried by the alleged conspirators to facilitate their secretive communication. The amulets, according to Stonhouse, carried the “secret credentials by which the emissaries make themselves known to each other.”55 Robert Clerk, the Secretary to the Government at Madras, had even sent to London’s Court of Directors a catalog of thirty-three Arabic papers that purportedly decoded a range of secret communications. His catalog included patchy translations of messages found on the amulets of detainees.56 In several instances, officials claimed that the emissaries had disguised themselves as byragees, a class of thugs who posed as religious mendicants. Such references clearly show how itinerant Muslims had conjured threatening images akin to those of the dreaded thugs. What distinguished itinerant Muslims from thugs, byragees, and other itinerant peoples, however, were their transnational ties, their knowledge of conflicts within other Islamicate contexts, and their perceived ties to reformist ideology. In various parts of South India, the “tremors” described by Colvin, which emanated from the Afghan Frontier, eventually merged with local anxieties about itinerant peoples. John Elphinstone, the Governor of the Madras Presidency, alerted British residents, district collectors, and police in various parts of the presidency about the infiltration of emissaries from Arabia and Persia. The emissaries, he claimed, carried letters to princes in India (both Muslim and non-Muslim), inciting them to capitalize on the diversion of the colonial army to the northwest frontier and unite in opposition to the Company.57 It was John Elphinstone’s uncle, 54

55 56

57

Authorities at Madras considered his lavish praise of Ali Khan, including his references to the size of his military arsenal, to be grossly exaggerated. They requested that Stonhouse obtain a more accurate assessment of Ali Khan’s arsenal, army, and fort. Ibid, 431. Letter from T.V. Stonhouse Principal Collector and Magistrate of Nellore to R. Clerk (Secretary to Government of Fort St. George), dated December 11, 1838. IOR F/4/1885, File 79778 (Political), 203. These amounted to little more than general religious exhortations. Catalog of thirty-three illuminated Arabic papers, consisting of amulets, charms, prayers, invocations, and mystical inscriptions – forwarded with a letter from Robert Clerk, Secretary to Government, Secret Department, December 10, 1838. IOR F/4/1885, File 79778, 58–60. Captain Awdry, Superintendent of Police at Vellore, referred to a letter from Elphinstone that warned his office of suspicious emissaries who were spreading disaffection toward the British, especially among the sepoys. Captain Awdry, Superintendent of Police, Witness at Vellore examined on oath October 1, 1839, IOR F/4/1878, File 79788, 371–73. Other descriptions of suspects and their communications are provided in NAI, Secret Consultation July 17, 1839 (Foreign), No. 3, 1–13.

Suspicious-Looking Travelers

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Mountstuart Elphinstone, who had served as a diplomatic envoy to Kabul in 1809 and had played a key role in shaping imperial policy in that region.58 The Madras governor would undoubtedly have been influenced by his uncle’s attentiveness to the Afghan region. In 1838–39, Elphinstone’s repeated warnings led to a series of arrests of Muslims within various South Indian cities. In some cases, Muslims were detained for no reason other than the fact of their itinerancy. Official correspondence from October to December 1838 describes arrests of Turkic, Arab, Afghan, Armenian, and Persian migrants to various cities of the Deccan. One police report noted a large number of “natives of Persia” at Madras and asked the government for instructions on what to do with them in light of Elphinstone’s charge.59 A number of individuals were detained at Masulipatnam, near the eastern coast of India (between Madras and Vishakapatnam). They claimed to be natives of Baghdad, who had traveled to Bombay and then to other parts of the Deccan, including Hyderabad, Bangalore, and Madras. They made their living through begging. Described as “suspicious characters,” they were arrested on grounds of traveling without passports.60 Several detainees described political events in other lands with considerable accuracy. Sahib Amir, whose testimony introduced this chapter, provided timely details about Persian collaboration with the Russians: He says that it has been long known in Persia that the king is to have the assistance of the Russians in invading India. That many princes and countries are prepared to join the invading army that if the natives could be brought to combine against the English, there would be no necessity for a foreign power to interfere or assist in expelling the tyrants, but all Indians are willing slaves and forget their own interest. Mahomet Shah is besieging Herat with a large force, assisted by Russian officers. When the army reaches India, many native princes are prepared to rise against the English. . . . Muhammad Ali, the Pasha of Egypt, has urged the King of

58

59

60

Elphinstone is perhaps the first colonial official to construe Afghan society in terms of “tribal” divisions and subdivisions. His description of Afghan “tribes” drew direct parallels to Scottish Highlanders. Mountstuart Elphinstone, An Account of the Kingdom of Caubul, Vol. I (Karachi: Oxford University Press, 1972), 217–35. According to Benjamin Hopkins, this treatise consolidated an “episteme” that has influenced Western policies toward Afghanistan to this day. See Hopkins, The Making of Modern Afghanistan, 18–24. The police report refers to a circular of Elphinstone that was published in the Official Gazette, October 30, 1838. Extract of Secret General Letter from Fort St. George, November 20 (no. 2) of 1838. IOR F/4/1875, File 79778 (Political), 17. Letter from P. Grant, Magistrate at Masulipatnam to the Secretary to the Government in the Secret Department of Fort St. George, December 16, 1838. IOR F/4/79778, 177.

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The Fear of Itinerant Muslims Persia to march towards India, offering to assist with money and (if necessary) by an armed force, to be sent via Bombay.61

This narration accurately describes the 1837 Persian invasion of Herat under the Qajar leader, Muhammed Shah. Elliot, however, noted that “the war near Herat commenced more than a year ago, but he [Sahib Amir] has not had authentic information about it, for the last four months.”62 The up-to-date information to which Elliot most likely referred was the British ultimatum to Muhammed Shah issued in May 1838 and his decision to withdraw his forces from Herat – details that no doubt would have tempered the triumphal tone of Sahib Amir’s testimony.63 In spite of the Shah’s retreat, the situation along India’s northwest frontier remained tense, and the concern that challenges to British power abroad could spark seditious activity within India continued to weigh heavily on the minds of South Indian officials.64 The belief that the Deccan could be home to Muslims who were hostile toward the British was by no means groundless. One seditious pamphlet that circulated around Hyderabad was a Hindustani poem entitled “The Advantages of Warring against the Infidels.” James Fraser had discovered the poem on the person of Faqruddin Sahib, who eventually was identified as a conspirator.65 Fraser immediately sent this authorless “jihad poem” to Nellore, where Stonhouse had arrested a number of other alleged conspirators. The poem essentially exhorts Muslims to endure the sacrifices needed to fight the “infidels.” It promises the complete cleansing of one’s sins and the 61 62 63

64

65

From E.J. Elliot, Chief Magistrate and Superintendent of Police to the Chief Secretary to the Government, February 9, 1839, 269–70. IOR F/4/1875, File 79778, 13–14. Ibid, 14. A summary of the agreement between John McNeill and Muhammed Shah is provided in “Persia, Russia, and Afghanistan,” in Asiatic Journal and Monthly Register for British India, China, and Australasia, Vol. 29, May–August 1839 (London: Wm. Allen & Co., 1839), 200–7. E.J. Elliot was quite intrigued by the breadth of Sahib Amir’s travels and knowledge. Sahib Amir claimed fluency in Arabic, Persian, and Russian and demonstrated his firsthand knowledge of current events across the Muslim world. Elliot also noted Sahib Amir’s capacity to “feign madness,” whether to avoid answering questions or to protest his imprisonment. Sahib Amir would at times avoid eating for an entire week. He eventually died in prison at Poonamallee. E.J. Elliot to the Chief Secretary to the Government. TNA No. 138 (Secret), 251. On the death of Sahib Amir, see TNA No. 140 (Secret), April 9, 1839, 876. In order to infiltrate the networks of alleged conspirators and learn of their operations, Fraser employed a shawl weaver of Kashmiri origin (though apparently of Persian descent; see Chapter 2), Assadullah Sherazee, who resided in Hyderabad. This Kashmiri made contact with the maulvi Salim and eventually gained access to Mubariz ud-Daula’s inner circle. He too was eventually handed a copy of the seditious pamphlet, which he in turn handed over to the authorities. To the Secretary of Fort St. George. Appendix D, NAI Secret Department, No. 8 of 1839, 126–31.

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gardens of paradise to those who endure sacrifices of finances, property, the comforts of family, and life itself in the cause of jihad. Whereas much of the poem is crafted in broad, general language, a few verses draw attention to the context of “Hindustan”: If our progenitors had not in this way made war against the infidels how was Hindustan filled with Mussalmen? The Muslim religion became predominant by the power of the sword. If our ancestors had been slothful in this the name of Mussalmen would have been blotted out. How long will you remain at home making your shoes creak? You will regret the fruits of your slothfulness. O friends! Take shame to yourselves. Be no longer cowards, join your chiefs and quickly destroy the infidels. After 1200 years a person with such intentions has appeared. O Mussalmen! Give praise unto God. Mussalmen from having no Head have become scattered. A Head has now appeared from among the offspring of Mahomet. ..... Sepoys from worldly considerations leave their homes and go and allow themselves to be slain without a regret. It is astonishing that you who are Mussalmen should make false excuses for following the path of religion. You are engrossed with worldly considerations and in the love for your wife and children you have forgotten your God. How long will you hide yourselves in your houses for the sake of your wives and children? How long will you escape from the hand of death? If today you freely give up your life in the cause of God, you will be happy tomorrow in heaven. ..... O God give thy strength to the Mussalmen and make them powerful. Thou hast promised victory to Mussalmen. Fulfill thy promise. Fill Hindustan with Mussalmen so that no other cry be heard but Ullah, Ullah. Amen.66

The poem does not disclose the identity of the “Head” of the Muslims who supposedly had appeared from the “offspring” of the Prophet Muhammad. Stonhouse, however, named two possibilities, Hyderabad’s Mubariz ud-Daula and Nasiruddin, the khalifa at Sindh. He expressed grave concerns that the poem was being circulated to Muslims all over India.67 66 67

Translation of a printed paper in Hindustani verse sent from Hyderabad to Nellore. Dated March 28, 1838. IOR F/4/1876, File 79783, 57–70. Stonhouse to Clerk, July 7, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79783, 56.

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The Fear of Itinerant Muslims

The Nellore Detainees In the Telugu-speaking city of Nellore, Stonhouse detained at least seven Muslims on the grounds of their involvement in seditious activities. Among them were Haji Abdullah, a traveler from Anatolia; Dhumdas, a Sikh from the Punjab; Imam Khan, an emissary of the Nawab of Bhopal; Rahamatullah, the Jagirdar of Annamasamudram; and three men claiming Meccan origins, Shaikh Abdullah, Muhammad Abdullah, and Shaikh Abdul Ruzzaq. Stonhouse had received intelligence from both Bombay and Madras before making the arrests.68 The Nellore detainees provided the earliest and most detailed narrations of the Wahhabi conspiracy. Their testimonies were copied and sent to a wide range of officials, including those at Hyderabad, Madras, Vellore, and Calcutta. When providing accounts of (Wahhabi-related) seditious activity to higher authorities, these officials drew heavily from the testimonies provided by the Nellore prisoners. By scrutinizing these testimonies, we gain insights about the movements of the prisoners, their alleged contacts, and their conspiratorial imagination. The testimony of Haji Abdullah illustrates how the movement of Muslims through certain contact zones could arouse suspicion of their conspiratorial involvement.69 His story also illustrates a recurring pattern among detainees: that of leaving their place of origin because of financial need, seeking patrons or employment in India, and becoming “Wahhabis” in the process. Born in Anatolia to a landholding father, Haji Abdullah left home to travel throughout Syria and Arabia. In 1836, he embarked on a journey that took him to Bombay, Calcutta, Coringa (a city in coastal Andhra), and ultimately Madras. In Madras, he attended a mosque in Black Town. He moved to Triplicane upon hearing that the most learned maulvis were residing there.70 At Triplicane, he became a pupil of an Arab teacher named Jamaluddin. It was Jamaluddin who 68 69

70

Memorandum, Political Department. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 221. I draw the phrase “contact zones” from Michael Fisher, who uses it to describe the cross-cultural engagement of South Asian migrants to Europe and elsewhere. See Michael Fisher, “From Princely Court to House of Commons: D.O. Dyce Sombre (1808–1851) from Sardhana to London” in Mushirul Hasan and Asim Roy (eds.), Living Together Separately: Cultural India in History and Politics (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2005), ch. 12. His ties to Triplicane (a center of Islamic learning near Madras) appear to validate the content of an anonymous letter to the government. The letter stated that a few respectable Muslims at Triplicane carried on a private correspondence with the King of Persia. One such letter apparently bore the signature of Khan Alam Khan, father-in-law of His Highness the Naib-i-Mukhtar. TNA Anonymous letter. No. 145 (Secret), August 13, 2943.

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brought his situation to the attention of Khan Alam Khan, a core member of the Wahhabi conspiracy.71 Haji Abdullah apparently received financial support and instruction from Khan Alam Khan. He also brought others to him who needed similar assistance. He once met a fellow Turk (whom he described as “someone in the garb of my country”) named Muhammed Moreed (alias Muhammed Ibrahim), who was in financial distress.72 Haji Abdullah took him to Khan Alam Khan, who provided him with daily meals. At the home of Khan Alam Khan, they both became acquainted with his eldest son, Budday Meyan. In the course of their conversations, it was discovered that Muhammed Moreed was “an emissary from Egypt” who collected intelligence in India for Muhammad Ali Pasha. Moreed offered to convey a letter from Budday Meyan to Egypt’s Pasha. In July 1839, Moreed was detained at Chittoor for carrying the alleged letter, penned in Arabic.73 From oral evidence drawn from other detainees, officials concluded that the letter was “intended to excite some foreign Mohammedan power to hostility against the British in India.”74 Authorities immediately transferred Muhammed Moreed to the prison at Poonamallee (Madras). They used the letter to bolster their case that Muslims were in fact acting as emissaries of foreign states. What may have more likely been the case, however, is that Moreed had merely claimed to be an emissary in order to gain respectability in the eyes of his new patrons. Travelers from Arabia to India in need of cash often claimed to possess powerful connections. To convince others of their high status, they required letters of introduction from high-ranking Arabs. Forging such letters was not uncommon, as we shall learn from other testimonies. The forged letters of prominent Muslims allowed them to leverage their case for hospitality and financial assistance from India’s nawabs. One of the detainees claiming Meccan origin, Shaikh Abdullah, claimed to be a highborn native of Mecca who boarded a ship from 71 72

73

74

Disclosure of Hajee Abdoolah (n/d). IOR F/4/1876, File 79781, 149–51, The term murid literally means “follower” or “disciple.” This was how Budday Meyan and his father came to designate him. His real name was Muhammad Ibrahim. In another testimony, reference is made to a Muhammed Ibrahim acting as an emissary to Muhammad Ali Pasha and being arrested in Chittoor with a letter addressed to him in his possession. John Elphinstone, the governor of Madras, informed the Nawab of the Carnatic that the letter in question had been crafted in the home of the conspirator, Khan Alam Khan. Elphinstone to Prince Azeem Jah Bahadoor, Mookhtar (authorized agent) of the Nawab of the Carnatic. TNA No. 151 (Secret), October 22, 1839, 4812–13. No translation was given of the Arabic letter. NAI Secret Consultation of Foreign Department of Government of India, No. 3; July 17, 1839, 1–13.

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Jeddah for Bombay because of his love for travel. His travels eventually took him to Hyderabad, where he resided in the house of the maulvi, Hyder Sahib.75 When he left Hyderabad for Nellore, he carried three Persian letters from Hyder Sahib.76 They were addressed to persons in Triplicane but lacked content that could be considered seditious. Still, Nellore’s Principal Collector, T.V. Stonhouse, noted that that the letters contained private marks over particular words, indicating “insurrectionary movement.”77 These secret marks, along with copper rings and amulets, were among the enigmatic modes of communication employed by the conspirators. In his patchy rendition of the conspiracy, Shaikh Abdullah stated that an alliance had been formed between the Nawab of Bhopal, the people of Jodhpur, and Mubariz ud-Daula, who he claimed was the head of the confederacy. As the Persian armies moved toward Sindh, detachments of the Company army would be heading from Bengal and Bombay to confront them. It was during this diversion that armies of Jodhpur, Bhopal, and others would “rise.”78 (Where exactly the troops from Bhopal and Jodhpur would move from this point is unclear in his account.) An insurrection within the army at Hyderabad would take control of Hyderabad before proceeding southward to Madras. This insurrectional army would use as an outpost the huge hill (or droog) at Udayagiri.79 The Jagirdar of Udayagiri, Shah Abbas Ali Khan, would provide food and military supplies for the troops during their southern campaign. From his interrogation of Shaikh Abdullah, Nellore’s T.V. Stonhouse gleaned other important details about the conspiracy. He learned, for 75 76

77

78

79

Hyder Sahib’s ties to Mubariz ud-Daula are discussed in the next chapter. In one of his letters to Hyderabad, Stonhouse claimed the letters were written by Hyderabad’s Maulvi Hyder Sahib, Munshi Mahdi Sahib, and Sayyid Ibrahim. Stonhouse to James Fraser, Resident at Hyderabad, TNA No. 138 (Secret), February 26, 339. Note of the Officiating Secretary on the Confederation against the British Government to which the letter from the Secretary to the Government of Bombay of the 29 Ultimo and its enclosures relate – signed T.H. Maddock, Officiating Secretary to Government of India with the Governor General. Simlah, April 18, 1839; IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 357–58. OIOC. See also pp. 236–37 of the same file. Jodhpur’s ruler, Man Singh, had once been a tribute-paying subordinate of the regime of Amir Khan. The affairs of Jodhpur were enmeshed in the campaigns of Amir Khan, the Pindaris, and the outcomes of their confrontations with the British. In 1818, the British brought Jodhpur under its sovereignty and offered it protection in exchange for an annual payment of tribute. Padmaja Sharma, Maharaja Man Singh of Jodhpur and his Times, 1803–1843 (Agra: Shiv Lal Agarwala & Co., 1972), 93–97, 119. Note of the Officiating Secretary on the Confederation against the British Government, IOR F/4/ 1876, File 79780 (Political), 235. For the history of the Udayagiri droog, see John Boswell, A Manual of the Nellore District in the Presidency of Madras (Madras: Government, 1873), 424–25.

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instance, that orders came from “upcountry,” not Hyderabad. Khalifas stationed in places such as Baroda or Jodhpur would issue orders that would be sent to Hyderabad.80 From Shaikh Abdullah, Stonhouse also inferred that the conspiracy reached beyond India, Afghanistan, and West Asia. It also extended eastward to include Penang and Singapore. The Shaikh claimed that Muhammad Abdullah and Shaikh Abdul Ruzzaq were both going to Penang and Singapore to speak with contacts in those places who were coordinating their own plots against the British.81 Stonhouse described Shaikh Abdullah as possessing a “bamboo complexion, without either beard or whiskers.”82 Local authorities appear to have regarded Shaikh Abdullah as possessing a unique charisma stemming from his ties to the Qazi of Mecca. Stonhouse asked Muhammad Abdullah, another detainee from Mecca, “Why did you shed tears yesterday upon seeing Shaikh Abdullah with me?” Muhammad Abdullah responded that he did not cry because he saw Shaikh Abdullah, but because he had at the moment been thinking of his children.83 This seemingly trivial exchange not only signals the esteem in which other emissaries held Shaikh Abdullah but may also explain several attempts to secure his release. According to one report, Ghous Sahib, the son of Udayagiri’s Abbas Ali Khan, had attempted to bribe Nellore’s cotwal (chief of police), Aminuddin Khan, to release the Shaikh.84 According to a separate report, Muhammad Abdullah himself carried a letter that offered Aminuddin 200 rupees and a horse in exchange for the release of Shaikh Abdullah. The letter appealed to his sense of duty as a Muslim to act on behalf of the Shaikh: You are a Mussalman and the son of a Qazi. You must not spoil the business of Mussalmen. The Prophet has said whoever is a Mussalman, all Mussalmen must be safe at his hand and mouth, [and] therefore you must deliver up Sheik Abdullah. You must be so good as to take care that 80

81 82

83 84

Letters from the Principal Collector at Nellore to Robert Clerk, Secretary to the Government at Fort St. George, TNA No. 139 (Secret), March 12, 1839, 472. This, however, does not diminish the sense in which the alleged conspiracy was centered in Hyderabad, since Mubariz may simply have been coordinating his plans with information that was conveyed from these northern outposts. Ibid, 478. At one point, Stonhouse had questioned whether Shaikh Abdullah was in fact of Meccan origin or a Bombay man. His reasons, however, were somewhat obscure. The Shaikh had visited the IndoAfghan city of Udayagiri after Stonhouse had warned its Jagirdar, Abbas Ali Khan, not to host any “foreigners.” Memorandum, Political Department. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 224. Deposition of Muhammad Abdullah, Native of Arabia, dated February 19, 1839. (Political), IOR F/ 4/1876; File 79780, 55–57. Extract Secret General Letter from Fort St. George, dated March 12, 1839. IOR F/4/1875, File 79778, 57.

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The Fear of Itinerant Muslims no suspicion shall attach to me, and you must take care that the secret is not divulged. Take care, this is a matter in which your religion is concerned.85

Aminuddin’s conniving role in manufacturing evidence of sedition on behalf of the government is discussed in greater detail in Chapter 4. He often boasted of his loyalty to the Company by describing how he had refused bribes. In this instance, he curried the favor and trust of Stonhouse by extracting information from alleged conspirators. Like Shaikh Abdullah, Muhammad Abdullah claimed to have left Mecca for Bombay, where he lived for four to six months. He then traveled to Hyderabad. There he was employed as an Arabic instructor for one of the Nizam’s jamadars (military chiefs). Displeased with his salary, he left for Madras by way of Bellary, Kurnool, and Udayagiri. Muhammad Abdullah insisted that he had left Mecca and taken the particular route to Madras that he did in order to earn enough money to pay off his debts. He had visited the Nawab of Kurnool because he “heard that he was a very liberal man,” and had visited the Jagirdar of Udayagiri with the same hope of receiving a charitable gift. Receiving little or nothing from either of these visits, he proceeded southward toward Madras.86 Muhammad Abdullah described another Arab colleague, Shaikh Abdul Rahim, who decided not to proceed with him southward. Learning that Arabs were being detained at Nellore, Abdul Rahim returned to Hyderabad with the ultimate aim of heading back to Bombay. There he intended to board a ship for Singapore.87 Another detainee who claimed Meccan origin, Shaikh Abdul Ruzzaq, also had left Mecca for Bombay before heading to Hyderabad (see Map 2, p. 38). He followed the pattern of coming to the Deccan to raise money from southern princes to relieve his debts.88 In contrast to Muhammad Abdullah, who owed only 500 rupees, Abdul Ruzzaq hoped, through his travels in India, to relieve himself of a debt of 5,000 rupees. In Hyderabad, he too had resided for a time with the maulvi, Hyder Sahib. He eventually went to Udayagiri and Kurnool carrying a letter, which officials claimed was from the Sharif of Mecca and carried his seal. The letter did little more than introduce Abdul Ruzzaq as a person possessing a sound grasp of the 85 86 87 88

Memorandum, Political Department. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 225. Deposition of Muhammad Abdullah, Native of Arabia, dated February 19, 1839. (Political), IOR F/ 4/1876; File 79780, 54–55. Ibid, 55. One of the two others proceeded to Singapore. Memorandum, Political Department. IOR F/4/ 1876, File 79780, 225.

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Qur’an. It exhorted the recipient of the letter to care for him and his colleagues, invoking the charge of the Prophet Muhammad, “whoever [would] assist such brethren” will be blessed by God. In his characteristically alarmist manner, Stonhouse declared the letter to be indicative of something far more insidious: The solemn nature of this appeal is indicative of its dark designs to excite the religious passions of the Mussalmen in a common cause, and to effect this they have gone to the fountain head the Sharif of Mecca, the first of their holy men at the Shrine of the Prophet.89

Stonhouse never questioned the letter’s authenticity. He assumed that as an Arab migrant, Abdul Ruzzaq had no business passing through remote regions of the South, unless in fact he was doing so to spread disaffection toward the British. After being held at Nellore, Abdul Ruzzaq and the other Arab detainees were eventually transferred to Poonamallee (near Madras) for further interrogation by Madras authorities. In his lengthy declaration at Poonamallee, Abdul Ruzzaq provided more detailed information about his movements and those of his colleagues and their plan for relieving their debts. He often went to Jeddah to sell hides and wheat. After spending some time at Mokha “to flee creditors,” he joined three other Arabs at Jeddah – Shaikh Abdullah, Ahmed Choqader, and Ali Mujrebi – and with them boarded a ship for Bombay.90 He stated that Shaikh Abdullah’s father was in the service of the Qazi of Mecca (which most likely explains the esteem in which the fellow travelers held him). Ruzzaq also noted that Shaikh Abdullah had visited Egypt and that the man named Ahmed Choqader had often visited the Arabian coast and Constantinople.91 While in Bombay, the travelers had a discussion of where to go next. Ruzzaq himself had proposed Java, while Ahmed Choqader proposed Hyderabad. The latter claimed that the decision to proceed to Hyderabad was made by “consulting a book of fate.” Once they entered Hyderabad, the Diwan (Minister) of the Nizam (see Figure 1), Chandulal, warmly hosted them for several days. Before sending them on their way, Chandulal granted each of the travelers a small sum of money (100 rupees or less) and a shawl for Shaikh Abdullah.

89 90 91

From the Principal Magistrate of Nellore to H. Clark, Secretary to the Government, February 19, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780 (Political), 227. It is unclear when he met Muhammad Abdullah, the other Meccan deponent. The Voluntary Declaration of Abdul Ruzzaq, IOR F/4/1876, File 79783 (Political), 392.

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Figure 1

Raja Chandulal, Minister of the Nizam of Hyderabad, 1809 43

In Hyderabad, the Arabs learned of the Muslim regimes of Kurnool and Udayagiri and considered it wise to proceed southward through those places to solicit aid from Rasul Khan and Abbas Ali Khan. To leverage their case, they needed to carry letters from persons of high rank in Arabia. In addition to finding someone at Hyderabad to craft these letters of introduction for them (other reports identify Shaikh Abdullah and Maulvi Hyder Sahib as the letter writers), the Arab travelers also managed to forge seals of several prominent Meccans, with which they signed the letters. Among them were Sayyid Abdullah Amir Gunni, a mufti at Mecca; Sayyid Suleiman, the deputy Sharif at Haram (in Mecca); and Egypt’s Muhammad Ali Pasha.92 After crafting the letters and forging the signatures with the false seals, they threw the seals into a tank. Carrying letters that Abdul Ruzzaq claimed were nothing more than devices for soliciting funds, they spent twelve days in Kurnool, but were unable to meet with the Nawab Ghulam Rasul Khan. They proceeded to Udayagiri, where Abbas Ali Khan fed them, gave them “some rupees,” and immediately sent them away because of reports that Arabs were being detained in his territory.93 A likely reason why Stonhouse read such “dark designs” into all aspects of Abdul Ruzzaq’s letters is because of the detailed description of the 92

The Voluntary Declaration of Abdul Ruzzaq, Ibid, 402–7.

93

Ibid, 404.

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anti-British conspiracy Abdul Ruzzaq provided. He claimed that there were as many as fourteen Indian princely states that were part of the conspiracy.94 Like the scenario described by Shaikh Abdullah, Abdul Ruzzaq’s elaborate scheme depended on the diversion of British resources to defend the Northwest Frontier from Russian and Persian armies. An alliance that included the Nawabs of Jodhpur and Banda was to collaborate with the Punjab’s Ranjit Singh to attack British garrisons at Allahabad, Delhi, Meerut, and Kanpur. A parallel plan was developed for South India. Once the British were successfully defeated, India was to become a “tributary to the king of Persia, with [the] Jodhpur chief as his viceregent.”95 The Maratha Empire was to be restored to its “pristine state” and Mubariz-ud-Daula was to be appointed head of the Deccan. It seemed from Abdul Ruzzaq’s account that the new regime would accommodate both Hindu and Muslim princes, something that colonial officials deemed implausible. Dhumdas was another migrant detained and interrogated at Nellore. He was a sixty-year-old Sikh from the Punjab who would have been well informed about the conflict between Ranjit Singh and the Afghans. Disguising himself as a wandering faqir, he is believed to have acted as an emissary to Man Singh, the Nawab of Jodhpur.96 In his testimony, Dhumdas described a confederacy that was not sufficiently matured. He mentioned a lack of troops in the Madras Presidency capable of taking the lead in any insurrection. Mubariz ud-Daula, he claimed, was in the process of securing more troops for the campaign from a number of princes. Dhumdas and emissaries like him served Mubariz ud-Daula by collecting information about the availability of troops in the Deccan, and “[committing] this information to paper.”97 As a Sikh, Dhumdas also claimed that Ranjit Singh was actively involved in the conspiracy. Officials immediately discredited this aspect of his testimony because of Singh’s recent battle with Sayyid Ahmad’s mujahidin.98 Why would he fight them through the early 1830s and suddenly reverse his stance and support them?

94

Not all are named, but among them are northern and southern princely regimes of Satara, Hyderabad, Bhopal, Gaikwar, Banda, Jodhpur, Iyapur, Rohilkand, Ranjit Singh’s kingdom, and Baroda. 95 96 97 A memorandum. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780 (Political), 227–29. Ibid, 222. Ibid, 242. 98 Note on the Confederation against the British Government from T.H. Maddock, officiating Secretary to the Government of India with the Governor General. Simlah, April 18, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780 (Political), 347.

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A rather unique account of the conspiracy is found in the testimony of another Nellore detainee, Rahamatullah, the Jagirdar of Annamasamudram.99 What sets his testimony apart from the others is its emphasis on the South Indian dimensions of the conspiracy and his reference to the involvement of the Nizam of Hyderabad, Nasir ud-Daula, and his minister, Chandulal. These men were considered to be stalwart allies of the Company. Rahamatullah was a close associate of Abbas Ali Khan, the Jagirdar of Udayagiri, who was accused of storing and supplying weapons for the conspiracy. In Rahamatullah’s rendition of events to come, Mubariz ud-Daula was to come to Kurnool. Dost Muhammad and the Rajah of Satara would send forces to join Mubariz ud-Daula and the Nawab of Kurnool. In an unusual twist, Rahamatullah has members of the Hyderabad royalty and nobility assisting with the campaign. The Nizam Nasir ud-Daula and his Minister, Chandulal, would “secretly” send 10,000 horses belonging to influential landholders of Hyderabad.100 Rahamatullah proceeded to describe a massive mobilization of troops from various South Indian outposts: The troops in Hyderabad were on a sudden to set out and proceed to Vizagapatnam, Masulipatnam and Guntur and establish themselves at those places. The troops, which were to assemble at Kurnool were to do the same at Bellary, Cuddapah, Chittoor, and other towns. Some troops were to proceed by [the] Chittoor and Tirupati road and others by Udayagiri and Nellore, establishing military posts at different places, and in the end all were to meet at Madras.101

This description of a highly coordinated siege of Madras is the only one of its kind in the recorded testimonies of detainees and probably did not correspond to a real plot. That is to say, military leaders within each of these cities were never shown to be in communication with each other about a concerted plan to attack Madras. With the exception of 99

100

101

Another Rahamatullah, who died in 1781, was a renowned Naqshbandiya Sufi preacher of Afghan origins. As a radical, reformist preacher, he moved about Bijapur, Kurnool, Udayagiri, and Cuddapah before establishing himself at Annamasamudram. There he purchased a plot of land near a mountain (which was named Rahamatabad) and laid foundations for a mosque. The relationship between this Sufi preacher and the Jagirdar who bears his name is unclear. See Susan Bayly, Saints, Goddesses and Kings: Muslims and Christians in South Indian Society, 1700–1900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1989), 179–81. See also www.yanabi.com/index.php?/ topic/430173-brief-biography-hazrat-syed-khaja-rahmatullah-ra-naib-e-rasool-rahamatabad-sharif/. Rahamatullah, Jaghirdar of Annamasamudram, December 9, 1839. Before the Magistrate of Nellore. IOR F/4/1879, File 79790, 102–4. His deposition was reproduced at Hyderabad after the arrest of Mubariz ud-Daula. See IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 462–66. Testimony of Rahamatullah, 104–5.

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Vizagapatnam, however, all of the places Rahamatullah mentioned were investigated for their involvement in the conspiracy.102 Summaries of the testimonies of various detainees reached the highest levels of the government of India. Officials at Bombay and Simla, however, responded quite skeptically since most of the information about antiBritish plots, they observed, had been drawn solely from the Nellore detainees. They discredited the accounts of these detainees on three grounds. First, they found geographical inaccuracies. For instance, the detainees mentioned a number of places that their western Indian armies would conquer en route to Delhi, but some of those places either were not en route to Delhi (e.g., Iyapore) or were even located on the opposite side of Delhi (e.g., Hansi and Hifsar). Second, they found the plan unfeasible since any real threat to British power would involve participation from the provinces of Bihar and Bengal, which were not mentioned at all. On the contrary, some of the princes they did mention either lacked armies or were so insignificant as to pose no threat at all. Most significantly, authorities at Simla discredited the testimonies because of their own confidence, however misguided it may have been, in knowing which princes would have reason to rebel and which would not. Some of the princes named in the confederacy derived their titles, lands, and authority from the British, and for that reason would be unlikely to rebel. The Company, for instance, had recently invested Bhopal’s Nawab Jahangir Muhammed Khan with the authority to rule the state and had every reason to believe that he would remain loyal to the Company.103 This logic, however, did not prevent a detainee from Bhopal named Imam Khan from claiming that Bhopal’s nawab was an active accomplice to the conspiracy and in regular communication with Mubariz ud-Daula.104 Another issue that factored prominently in the Company’s assessment of motive was religion. T.H. Maddock, Secretary for the Governor 102

103

104

From 1836 to 1839, the District Collector at Bellary, for instance, had served as a weapons inspector at Kurnool. In 1835, officials intercepted shipments of arms from Cuddapah. The trial of Maulvi Modin Sahib was held in 1839 at Chittoor, the same place where Muhammed Ibrahim was arrested. Whereas each component of Rahamatullah’s narrative was a live node in the investigation, there was no evidence to substantiate his account of the envisioned revolt. In September 1837, the Company’s Political Agent, Lancelot Wilkinson, arrived at Bhopal to confer authority on Jahangir Muhammed Khan and stabilize his turbulent relations with Sikander Begum, who was sent into retirement with a pension. Charles Eckford Luard and Kudrat Ali (Munshi), Bhopal State Gazetteer, Vol. III (Calcutta: Government Press, 1908), 28–30. He claimed that other “confederate princes” had seduced him into joining and that he now serves them as an informant of the Company’s operations. Stonhouse to Clerk. TNA No. 138 (Secret), February 5, 1839, 104.

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General of India, could not imagine that Indian princes would form alliances that crossed religious lines. Ranjit Singh, he contended, would never collaborate with Muslim armies to fight the British because he “enjoys a very fine territory in the protected Sikh states, free from all tribute or from any extraction on the part of the British government.” Moreover, “he has greatly persecuted the Muhammedans who have fallen under his power, and they hate him.”105 Maddock concluded that the heart of the problem was the Wahhabi sect of Muslims, who were growing in numbers and influence in and around Hyderabad under the leadership of Mubariz ud-Daula. The fact that three of the men who were detained at Nellore had claimed Meccan origins and had developed ties to Mubariz ud-Daula factored into his analysis. The question remained as to whether the impulse to rebel was shared by all Muslims of India or only those whom officials had labeled “Wahhabis.” Maddock was convinced that Wahhabi tenets would never be acceptable to Indian Muslims in general because of their tendency to “canonize saints, and attach holiness to particular spots being carried to an excess of extreme superstition.”106 This accommodation, according to one official, “dulls or deadens their political senses and military zeal, which urges the true Muslim to a jihad or holy war.”107 Maddock issued these dismissive statements on behalf of the government in April 1839. This was before some of the weightier aspects of the conspiracy were brought to light. In June, authorities at Hyderabad would arrest Mubariz ud-Daula and forty-six Wahhabi maulvis; and from October to December, the Company would be embroiled in affairs at Kurnool, Udayagiri, and Vellore. These subsequent developments may explain the tone of John Elphinstone’s lengthy memorandum of August 1840, in which he expressed, in the most emphatic terms, his belief in the existence of a conspiracy. Curiously, to support this claim, Elphinstone did not refer to events at Hyderabad or Kurnool, but cited some of the same evidence dismissed by Maddock: Does any person believe that the letter found upon the Mussalman for eigner at Chittoor is a forgery? Were the exhortations to a religious war against the infidel rulers of the country found at Hyderabad and long afterwards in the remote province of Travancore, lithographed and 105

106

Note of the Officiating Secretary on the Confederation against the British Government, from T.H. Maddock, Officiating Secretary to the Government of India with the Governor General. Simlah, April 18, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 345–59. 107 Ibid, 361. Ibid, 368–69.

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disseminated to impose upon the Government or to array the fanaticism of a portion of its subjects against it? Is it possible to suppose that the almost simultaneous discoveries, and arrests which were made not by one authority, nor in this presidency only, but in so many and in such widely distant places under such a variety of circumstances were the result of accident, or of a concerted [ploy] for mystifying the government and not for subverting it?108

Elphinstone’s language indicates how he had maintained belief in the existence of a conspiracy, even after the discovery of evidence that diminished its credibility. (A closer examination of Elphinstone’s Minute is provided in Chapter 4).

Conclusion This chapter has described how conflicts in West and Central Asia had sparked rumors of a highly coordinated uprising in British India inspired by Wahhabism. The heartlands of this uprising would not be Delhi, Meerut, Awadh, or Lucknow (prominent in the 1857 Rebellion), but the princely state of Hyderabad and other regions of South India. Officials such as John Elphinstone, T.V. Stonhouse, and James Fraser believed that Wahhabis were taking advantage of the Company’s involvement in Afghanistan by sending emissaries throughout India to inspire a revolt. These itinerant Muslims destabilized the domains of sedentary princes by propagating Wahhabi doctrines among princely families and their troops and inciting them to join the jihad against the British. The men who were detained by the Company, however, told stories that complicated this scenario. Like generations of Arab and Afghan migrants before them, these men came to India in search of employment or financial assistance from Muslim nawabs. In the course of their travels in India, they came into contact with Muslim reformist networks and ideology. What this implies is that their conspiratorial imagination did not arise from their ties to foreign regimes; neither was it necessarily triggered by inter-empire conflict. It was an imagination cultivated during their travels within India. Most likely, it arose through their contact with Mubariz ud-Daula and the reformist networks with which he communicated from Hyderabad. This begs the question of how exactly to interpret the accounts of the conspiracy provided by men such as Muhammad Abdullah, Dhumdas, Rahamatullah, or Abdul Ruzzaq. One option is to take the path of John 108

Minute of August 18, 1840. Enquiries at Kurnool and Udayagiri. IOR F/4/1880, File 79794, 12.

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Elphinstone and treat their testimonies as evidence of a plot that posed a real threat to Company rule. The fact that so many detainees could describe such a plot, name common participants, and, in some instances, describe it as an extension of the “holy war” begun by Sayyid Ahmad could strike us as providing firsthand evidence for the conspiracy.109 Still, the questions that Maddock had raised concerning the plausibility and consistency of their narratives cast a shadow of doubt over their validity. Moreover, the following chapters will describe weak links in the scenarios described by detainees, particularly in the cases of Vellore, Kurnool, and Udayagiri. A second option is to regard the accounts as pure fabrication. From this perspective, the detainees produced fictitious accounts of a conspiracy either to earn the favor of their interrogators or to relieve themselves of the duress of interrogation.110 During the course of the entire investigation, officials would discover that allegedly seditious letters, sometimes bearing the seals of foreign authorities, were forgeries. Added to these forgeries were instances when witnesses clearly had rendered false testimony. Such instances were evident in Abdul Ruzzaq’s testimony as well as in the investigations conducted at Kurnool, Udayagiri, and Vellore. The ties of each of the detainees to Mubariz ud-Daula and the overlapping characteristics of their narratives seem to suggest that the detainees drew from (or belonged to) a common pool of information. A third option combines the confidence of the first with the caution of the second. This option treats the conspiracy narratives as an aspirational discourse confined to a limited sphere of activity (centered on Hyderabad) and showing little evidence of actual means. This is the perspective I adopt in this book. The detainees moved in circles that placed them in regular contact with Mubariz ud-Daula and his maulvis and acquainted them with the activities of the mujahidin who were active near the Frontier. Their immersion in these networks provided them with a vocabulary of revolt, but no legwork was in place to carry it out. Dhumdas himself indicated

109 110

References to “holy war” are most prevalent in the testimonies of those who were detained at Hyderabad, discussed in the following chapter. Whereas there is no evidence that police had subjected detainees at Nellore or elsewhere to torture, this cannot be eliminated as a possibility. Police and collectors in the Madras Presidency did employ torture as a means of gaining a confession or extracting revenue payments. Its prevalence led the government to form a commission that investigated the nature and extent of torture within various districts of the Presidency. See Report of the Commissioners for the Investigation of Alleged Cases of Torture in the Madras Presidency, Submitted to the Right Honorable the Governor in Council of Fort St. George on 16 April 1855 (Madras: Fort St. George Press, 1855).

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that the “confederacy” (as it was often called) had not fully solidified and that the Indian rebels continued to be in need of arms. To coordinate a plan that involved Russian and Persian armies as well as North and South Indian princes and their armies would have been a massive endeavor. It would have required years of planning, immense resources, the conversion of massive numbers of sepoys to the Muhammadi movement, and foolproof secrecy. By linking himself to the already existing network of Sayyid Ahmad and his khalifas, Mubariz ud-Daula acquired vital organizational capital for his campaign. Still, the gap between an imagined conspiracy and an operational one remained vast. Officials discovered a high concentration of oral evidence of seditious activity at Hyderabad but tapering evidence farther to the south. The Nellore detainees mentioned Kurnool and Udayagiri in their narrations of the conspiracy. These regions, however, were never integrated into the conspiracy’s convictional center. Still, the dissemination of the discourse of conspiracy opened doors for all kinds of intrigues by local actors. As much as the Wahhabi conspiracy provided the Company with a powerful tool to organize and legitimate its policing operations, it also provided Muslims with a way to attack their enemies by implicating them in crimes against the state.

chapter 2

Prince Mubariz ud-Daula Rebel, Reformer and Mastermind

On June 15, 1839 the Nizam of Hyderabad, Nasir ud-Daula (r1829–1857) ordered a group of soldiers to storm the palace of his younger brother, Prince Mubariz ud-Daula, arrest him, and imprison him at the Golconda Fort. The British Resident at Hyderabad, James Stuart Fraser, had accused Mubariz of entertaining treasonous designs against his older brother, the Nizam and against the Company.1 He became convinced that Mubariz was at the center of a vast confederacy consisting of princes and Muslim soldiers who, at his command, were prepared to launch a revolt against the British. The main ideological inspiration for this uprising was the jihadist doctrine of the followers of the late Sayyid Ahmad (d1831). Some of Sayyid Ahmad’s followers in Hyderabad had come to regard Mubariz as a southern figurehead who would lead their ongoing campaign. Long before the British had implicated Mubariz in the Wahhabi conspiracy, they had portrayed him as the rebellious, even “sanguinary,” immediate younger brother of Nizam Nasir ud-Daula.2 Mubariz’s agitations in and around Hyderabad were a function of his rebellious personality and strained sibling relationship. In connection to the events of the 1830s, however, this caricature raises more questions than it resolves. By explaining his activities chiefly in terms of his personality, colonial writing draws no connections to local conditions that may have influenced his actions. Thus far, I have maintained that the Deccan’s Wahhabi conspiracy arose chiefly, if not entirely from the initiative and imagination of Mubariz 1

2

The Nizam was bound by treaty to the Company and as such was considered to be a loyal ally. After the 1857 Rebellion, alterations to the coinage and seals of the Nizam would convey his new allegiance to the British. See Hastings Fraser, Our Faithful Ally, the Nizam: Being an Historical Sketch of Events Showing the Value of the Nizam’s Alliance to the British Government in India and his Services during the Mutinies (London: Smith, Elder & Co., 1865), 304–5. Hastings Fraser, Memoir and Correspondence of General James Stuart Fraser of the Madras Army, Second Edition (London: Whiting & Co., 1885), 63. Nizam Sikander Jah had three sons through his wife Chandni Begum Saheba: Nasir ud-Daula, Mubariz ud-Daula, and Shams ud-Daula.

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ud-Daula. And yet, it was a particular climate of disaffection within Hyderabad state that fueled Mubariz’s actions. The Company’s intrusion into Hyderabadi affairs and the Nizam’s complicity, the effects of Hyderabad’s perpetual debts, and the low morale of Muslim troops were issues with which the Nizam constantly had to contend. Whereas earlier works have amply discussed such topics, they have not explored the extent to which these systemic problems provided fertile ground for an uprising inspired by Muslim reformism and led by a member of the Nizam’s family. Perhaps the most significant question left unresolved is how and why Mubariz’s rebellious tendencies came to be expressed as a religious movement, and one that included followers from Arabia and Central Asia. James Fraser was convinced that Mubariz had used “the guise of Wahhabism” to advance his personal ambitions to unseat his brother and contest British power.3 This interpretation must not be dismissed too easily. For a Muslim prince with well-established anti-authoritarian tendencies, the allure of a well-organized movement that espoused jihad against kafirs and those who cooperate with them makes good sense.4 This instrumentalist reading, however, does little to explain the high esteem in which followers of Sayyid Ahmad came to hold Mubariz on account of his exemplary piety. Nor does it adequately explain Mubariz’s funding for the dissemination of reformist literature and his adherence to sharia law. By the early 1830s, Mubariz had attached himself to a religious movement that had very different ideological moorings, infrastructure, and goals from those of other “freedom fighters” within the Nizam’s Dominions.5 Coming to terms with the Muslim reformist ideology that guided 3 4 5

To the Secretary to the Government of Fort Saint George, from James Fraser, dated March 14, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 365. Rajendra Prasad’s study also interprets Mubariz ud-Daula’s Wahhabi ties as strictly political. See Prasad, Asif Jahs of Hyderabad: Their Rise and Decline (Hyderabad: Prachee, 1984), 72. The most complete discussion of Mubariz ud-Daula and the Wahhabi movement to date is found in The Freedom Struggle in Hyderabad, Vol. I, 1800–1857 (Hyderabad: Hyderabad State Committee, 1992). This volume provides an account of his earlier anti-British agitations, his leadership in the Wahhabi movement and the findings of a Commission of Enquiry, which investigated his collaboration with other princes in planning the revolt. The Freedom Struggle presents Mubariz as one among many actors who opposed Company rule. The volume describes different instances of anti-British activities in Hyderabad, often by drawing extensively from letters and memoirs of English residents or other officials. As its title indicates, the volume then recasts these colonial accounts of “irregular” or “rebellious” behavior as instances of a common “freedom struggle.” See, for instance, the quoting of the Resident Thomas Sydenham to describe the activities of Rao Rambha and Nur ul-Umra (Freedom Struggle in Hyderabad, 18–28) and Mohiput Ram’s rebellion (Freedom Struggle in Hyderabad, 54–55); Major R.G. Burton’s discussion of the rebellion of Dharmaji Pratap Rao (Freedom Struggle in Hyderabad, 87–88), or Major Robert Pitman’s correspondence with the Resident, Henry Russell regarding Nowsaji Naik’s rebellion (Freedom Struggle in Hyderabad, 93–97).

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Mubariz’s activities is complicated by the fact that colonial officials were unable to lay hands on any of his writings. In spite of being trained in Arabic and Persian, Mubariz apparently wrote no manifesto or pamphlets (as did other Muhammadi reformers) that revealed his inner convictions.6 Moreover, officials were unable to obtain the seditious letters he allegedly wrote to maulvis, khalifas, and princes in various parts of India. On more than one occasion, officials name this absence of documentary evidence as a major weakness in their case against the prince.7 Company authorities maintained copious records of their investigation of Wahhabi activities; but they left no record of any formal interrogation of Mubariz ud-Daula himself. What we know of this prince is limited to what others have said about him.8

6

7

8

Raja Mohipat Ram was a high-ranking officer of a French led regiment of the Nizam’s army who, for various reasons, had never extended his loyalty to the British. He eventually became the governor of Berar and was in charge of the Nizam’s forces stationed in the Western region of Hyderabad state. His anti-British posture hardly resonates with Wahhabi aspirations for dar ul-Islam, which Mubariz had come to embrace. During the Company’s war against the Marathas in 1803, he was supposed to have provided the British with assistance. Instead, he and his undisciplined troops actually looted the camp of the Company army. James Hoover, Men Without Hats: Discipline and Discontent in the Madras Army, 1806–07 (New Delhi: Manohar, 2007), 149. Later, Mohipat Ram resented that Mir Alam, a British ally, and not he was appointed as Diwan to Nizam Sikander Jah. This explains much of his hostility toward the British. The Freedom Struggle in Hyderabad, 33–37. From what I examined, documents concerning the Wahhabi conspiracy kept at the National Archives of India, the Oriental and India Office Collection (London), the Tamil Nadu Archives, or the Andhra Pradesh State Archives and Research Institute at Hyderabad include no writings or statements of Mubariz himself. It is possible that letters of his may be found in the archives at Tonk. Even if that were so, the absence of any writings of his amid the massive data collected by colonial authorities is revealing. Instead of attributing this absence to Mubariz’s deployment of a nineteenthcentury form of “tradecraft,” I view it as reflecting his limited impact beyond Hyderabad. “The nature of the [oral] evidence is of that kind that is subject to be and no doubt is deteriorated by great exaggeration and must be received and acted upon with caution. . . . The Government unfortunately however are not in possession of that convicting direct evidence, which amounts to a legal degree of proof, in any case.” IOR F/4/1876, File 79782, 64–65. In the absence of his own writings, several sources provide us with windows into the early, “preWahhabi” career of Mubariz ud-Daula, albeit from very different perspectives. Khader Khan Munshi Bidri was a contemporary of Mubariz. In his history, Tarikh-e-Asaf Jahi (1851), he presents valuable accounts of the Prince’s early confrontations with the state and the affinity he developed with Arab troops stationed at Hyderabad. Philip Meadows Taylor had served the Nizam’s army before serving the Company in a variety of capacities. A prolific writer, Taylor documents in The Story of My Life (1882) a significant standoff between troops of the elite Bolaram Regiment and Mubariz, while he was imprisoned at the Golconda Fort. Finally, the highest office of the Nizam, the Daftar-i-Diwani, maintained a calendar for the events the state. Based on this official calendar, the Chronology of Modern Hyderabad, 1720–1890 (1954) provides a record of day-to-day happenings of the Nizam’s Court as well as political actions taken by the Nizams. The Chronology provides a valuable “Nizamate perspective” on the actions of Mubariz and the responses of the British Resident, Nizam, and Minister. By placing these and other sources in conversation with each other, I offer my own interpretation of Mubariz’s agitations prior to his conversion to Wahhabism.

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With regard to Mubariz’s activities as a Wahhabi leader, the most valuable sources of information come from the testimonies of his closest associates who were arrested with him.9 Drawing from these testimonies and other sources from his day, this chapter reconstructs Mubariz ud-Daula’s role in activities the colonial state judged treasonous. It pays particular attention to how he came under the influence of Muslim reformist preachers and how he oversaw a campaign to incite Muslim troops to jihad. Instead of viewing these “religious” developments in isolation, they are set against systemic problems afflicting Hyderabad State. The Company’s expanding control over the Nizam’s administration and the state’s chronic debts created a climate of discontentment amongst Arab and Afghan soldiers of the Hyderabad army. A widening gap emerged between those who remained securely situated under the Company’s patronage and those elements of the soldiery who were increasingly disenfranchised.10 The rising number of such troops into the 1830s was a crucial factor that gave the followers of Sayyid Ahmad a ready audience for their jihadist message. The substantial oral evidence gleaned from detainees clearly demonstrates Mubariz’s role in propagating jihadist teachings among the troops and his communication with khalifas in Bombay, Tonk, Sindh, and Calcutta. In fact, the case against Mubariz may be viewed as the evidentiary epicenter of the Deccan’s Wahhabi conspiracy. The convergence of input from a wide range of deponents reveals that Mubariz was in fact coordinating efforts to extend the campaign of Sayyid Ahmad into the Deccan. This central role of Mubariz, however, is accompanied by considerable ambiguity concerning the nature and scope of his alleged conspiracy. Did it encompass alliances with foreign regimes (such as the Russians and Persians) and numerous Indian princes? Did Mubariz initiate his

9

10

The term “Wahhabi” is used pervasively in source materials on the Hyderabad conspiracy. Because of this, I also, for clarity and consistency, employ this term to refer to the Muslim reformers who were active in the Deccan. As noted in the previous chapter, these reformers were the followers of Sayyid Ahmad Barelvi, who called themselves the Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah. They are to be distinguished from the Arabian Wahhabis. Sunil Chander has argued that the East India Company centralized power in Hyderabad state through its policy of military fiscalism, or “supplying intermediary factions with military services in return for lands and revenues.” By means of this policy, the British undermined the traditional independence of landed intermediaries and samasthans (little kings). The economic hardships created from centralization were compounded by added hardships caused by low agricultural returns. Sunil Chander, “From a Pre-Colonial Order to a Princely State: Hyderabad in Transition, c1748–1865,” Ph.D. Dissertation submitted to Faculty of History, Cambridge University (1987), 3, 171.

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alliance with Muslim reformers or did they approach him? In other words, who was using whom? Most likely, Mubariz’s “conspiracy” was not nearly as vast or as organized as the Nellore detainees (whose testimonies are discussed in the previous chapter) had portrayed it. His involvement with Muhammadi networks and role in proselytizing among the troops must not lead us to conclude that his goals were anywhere close to being realized. Mubariz used his connections and influence to gain information about the Afghan region and disseminate his aspirations to others. His capacity to actually enlist the cooperation of other princes and their armies, however, was grossly exaggerated. This chapter explains how Hyderabad became the launching point and epicenter of the so-called Wahhabi conspiracy. It begins by describing the climate of discontentment that had arisen amongst Arab and Afghan troops of the Nizam’s army. It then describes the affinity that developed between Mubariz and these disenfranchised troops, prior to his conversion to Wahhabism. The chapter concludes by providing an account of his conversion to Wahhabism and role in inciting troops to jihad against the British.

Unpaid Arabs and Afghans The eighteenth century in India saw the decline of the Mughal Empire and rise of numerous regional powers that fought with each other for territory and influence. Once a southern province of the Mughals, Hyderabad under the Asaf Jah dynasty grew increasingly autonomous. It developed its own capital at Hyderabad city and unique administrative institutions.11 Hyderabad’s central location, however, placed the state in the crossfire of confrontation between many groups who were competing for control over the Deccan. These included the Marathas to the west and Mysore to the 11

Munis Faruqui describes how the Hyderabad Nizams faced the constant challenge of gaining collaborators from the dominant ethnic groups of the Deccan, while protecting Hyderabad State from the political aspirations of these very groups. From the 1720s, Nizam-ul-Mulk gradually built a base for himself in the Deccan while capitalizing on his appointment as wazir (prime minister) of the Mughal state. See Faruqui, “At Empire’s End: The Nizam, Hyderabad and Eighteenth Century India,” in Eaton, Faruqui, Gilmartin, and Kumar (eds.), Expanding Frontiers in South Asian and World History: Essays in Honour of John F. Richards (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 18–19. The Nizam’s gradual autonomy from Mughal control is reflected in his capacity to conduct war and engage in diplomacy without the approval of the Mughal emperor. Courtly customs and traditions that reflected Hyderabad’s allegiance to the Mughals faded, and the Nizam appointed his own mansabdars (holders of military rank). Karen Leonard, “The Hyderabad Political System and Its Participants,” Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 30 (1971), 570.

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south. By the latter part of the century, the Nizam had suffered a number of defeats by the Marathas and was forced to surrender his northwestern territories to them. The British and the French had also competed for control over Hyderabad’s territories and army, making the state vulnerable to pressure from both Indian and European regimes.12 As the Company gained the upper hand over the French, the Marathas, and Mysore, it solidified its ties to Hyderabad state through a number of treaties.13 After successive wars in which the Nizam had committed his own troops to aid the Company’s cause, an aged and infirm Nizam Ali Khan (r. 1761–1803) signed an agreement with the Company known as the Treaty of Subsidiary Alliance (1798). Under the terms of this Treaty, the Company would protect Hyderabad from her enemies.14 These included local aggressors (e.g., Poligars and Pindaris, zamindars, and regional Pathan nawabs) and the Marathas, who had consistently encroached upon the state’s northern and western territories. The Nizam, however, would pay a hefty price for this protection by having to fund British-led regiments stationed within his dominions, hereafter referred to as the Subsidiary Force.15 The main cantonment that housed these British-commanded troops was located just to the north of Hyderabad city at Secunderabad. Five miles to the north of Secunderabad was Bolarum, whose cavalry and infantry troops were considered the most elite and well trained of the Subsidiary Force. The Bolarum troops were often deployed to put down agitations of disaffected Arab and Rohilla soldiers. They were also involved in quelling Mubariz ud-Daula’s earlier actions against the state.16 12

13 14

15

16

A French commander, M. Raymond, had raised a corps of 14,000 soldiers recruited heavily from Hyderabad’s Aurangabad District. They “bore the colors of the French Republic and had the cap of liberty engraved upon their buttons.” Reginald George Burton, A History of the Hyderabad Contingent (Calcutta: Government, 1905), 9. Descendants of Irish and Portuguese notables also served the Hyderabad army. Leonard, “The Hyderabad Political System,” 574. Once the British had defeated the French in India, they required the Nizam to purge the ranks of his army of French and all other foreign influences. These are detailed by Eric Beverley, Hyderabad, British India, and the World: Muslim Networks and Minor Sovereignty, c. 1850–1950 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 54–73. Hyderabad was the first of a series of “subsidiary alliances,” which the Company under Governor General Wellesley had formed with Indian princely states. Sarojini Regani, Nizam-British Relations, 1724–1857 (New Delhi: Ashok Kumar Mittal, 1986), 177–80. It was not until the reorganization of the Hyderabad army in 1853 that its British-led cavalry and infantry regiments became collectively known as the Hyderabad Contingent. Until then, they were the Subsidiary Force, which distinguished itself from the Nizam’s own cavalry and infantry. Burton, A History of the Hyderabad Contingent, 138. In due course, the Company-led forces would be distributed across seven stations: Bolaram, Raichur, Mominabad, Aurangabad, Jalna, Hingoli, and Ellichipur. Burton, A History of the Hyderabad Contingent, 5–7.

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Hyderabad’s Subsidiary Force was a branch of the Madras Army and held the largest concentration of its troops. Subsidiary forces stationed at Mysore, Pune, and Hyderabad provided a huge tactical advantage for the British. At no cost to the Company, Subsidiary Forces played an important role at safeguarding territories under direct or indirect British administration from potential enemies.17 Company officials often complained about the Nizam’s own troops, which they portrayed as “incomplete in numbers, loose in discipline, badly armed, and irregularly paid.”18 The Subsidiary Force, by contrast, provided the Company with disciplined regiments that could be useful in subduing its rivals.19 These troops also served indirectly to keep the Nizam in a perpetual state of subordination to the Company, since their non-payment would result in immediate reprisals. In addition to funding his own army, family and court, the Nizam now bore the additional expense of financing the Subsidiary Force.20 This double burden resulted in huge deficits in the state’s treasury and fed a climate of discontentment, especially, as we shall see, among those “irregular” troops that the Nizam was unable to pay on a consistent basis. As was the case with other princely states, what was termed an “alliance” quickly became a system of colonial management and control of Hyderabadi affairs. The Company’s indirect rule of princely states allowed the Company to maintain its sovereignty, while granting a prince a degree of local authority anchored in traditional sources of sovereignty.21 The art of politics in Hyderabad, as it had been for the Mughals, consisted of integrating others into the orbit of state alliances through royal durbars and multi-layered forms of patronage.22 The Company mediated its interests to 17 18 19

20 21

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Hoover, Men without Hats, 148. Henry George Briggs, The Nizam: His History and Relations with the British Government, Vol. II (London: Bernard Quaritch, 1861), 100. In connection to the Kurnool campaign, for instance, Fraser inquired as to what portion of Hyderabad’s Subsidiary Force could be spared for the campaign. From the Officiating Resident of Hyderabad. TNA No. 144 (Secret), 2 July 1839, 2532. Peter Wood, “Vassal State in the Shadow of Empire: Palmer’s Hyderabad, 1799–1867,” Ph.D. Thesis, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 1981; 44–47. Michael Fisher, Indirect Rule in India: Residents and the Residency System, 1764–1858 (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1991). What came to be known as “indirect rule,” according to Kavita Datla, was central to colonial expansion and employed a variety of legal instruments, including treaties of “subsidiary alliance.” In Hyderabad, the British consolidated an alliance that recognized the Nizam’s sovereignty, while obligating him to honor colonial alliances with other states. “The result in this case was to transform the state from the outside in through an evolving process of treaty making.” Kavita Datla, “The Origins of Indirect Rule in India: Hyderabad and the British Imperial Order,” Law and History Review, Vol. 33, No. 2 (May 2015), 337. The fabric of Hyderabad’s imperial culture was most vividly expressed in royal durbars. These were highly decorated official gatherings, which staged the Nizam’s power within an elaborate network of alliances. As the holder of the greatest amount of land (and revenues from that land) and of the

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the Nizam through its political agent, or Resident, who resided for a fixed period of time within the Nizam’s court. The Nizam, in turn, spoke through his Diwan, or Prime Minister.23 Hyderabad’s ceremonial culture could easily conceal maneuverings for power and influence in which British Residents were often implicated.24 It was never entirely clear how far a Resident could reach into the affairs of the Nizam’s court without infringing on the Nizam’s sphere of authority. The Company could easily exploit this ambiguity in order to exert its influence on the Nizam’s court. At least one source identifies the overreaching hand of colonialism as the impetus behind the Wahhabi conspiracy in Hyderabad.25 In 1808, the Company intervened in the affairs of the Nizam’s court so as to influence power relations for decades to come. Upon the death of Mir Alam, who was the Prime Minister of Nizam Sikander Jah (r1803-1829), the British recommended for his replacement Shams ul-Umrah, a military commander whom they considered loyal to the Company.26 Disinclined to kau tau to the British, Nizam Sikander Jah appointed as Prime Minister Munir ul-Mulk, the son-in-law of Mir Alam. In need of a trusted ally within

23

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largest military in the central Deccan, the Nizam drew the respect of heads of smaller kingdoms (samasthans) and holders of land grants (jagirdars), who possessed armies of their own. In spite of Hyderabad’s own limitations, the Nizam was in a better position than any other regional ruler to extend financial or military aid to a neighbor. The durbars ritualized these status relations: The Nizam distributed gifts (e.g., jewels, robes, shawls, turbans, etc.), favors, land grants, or official titles to nobles, agents (vakils), or persons of high military rank. In turn, he received nazr, or gifts from his guests, often in the form of gold or cash. Numerous durbars are recorded in the calendars of the Daftar-i-Diwani (the office of the Chief Minister). These calendars were consolidated into a single chronology of events in the Nizam’s court in The Chronology of Modern Hyderabad, 1720–1890 (Hyderabad: Central Record Office, 1954). The Diwan, in turn, assigned administrative responsibilities to subordinate officers, peshkars and daftardars. These officers became deeply involved in the financial management of the state, particularly in connection to the management and recordation of land revenue. See Karen Leonard, Social History of an Indian Caste: The Kayasths of Hyderabad (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), 23–25. William Dalrymple details the political dimensions of the affair of the first resident, James Kirkpatrick with Khair un-Nissa, a begum from an influential Hyderabadi family. See Dalrymple, White Mughals: Love and Betrayal in Eighteenth Century India (New York: Penguin, 2003). Qeyamuddin Ahmad, The Wahabi Movement in India, 125. Mir Alam had served as a general in the Nizam’s army. He earned favor with the Company by aiding the Company army in its 1799 conquest of Mysore. Henry George Briggs, The Nizam: His History and Relations with the British Government, Vol. II (London: Bernard Quaritch, 1861), 92–97. Shams ul-Umrah held the rank of the Paigah, an honorific title signifying his close ties to the Nizam’s family and household troops. After being instituted by the first two Nizams, chiefs of Paigah came from the highest rank of noble families in Hyderabad, and were known for their loyalty to the state. K. Krishnaswamy Mudiraj, Pictorial Hyderabad (Hyderabad: Chandrakanth Press, 1929), 45.

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the Nizam’s court, the Company responded by insisting that Chandulal, who held the lesser office of the peshkar, be invested with essentially the same powers as Munir ul-Mulk.27 Company officials viewed Chandulal as someone far more favorably disposed to Company rule than the temperamental Sikander Jah and his appointee. They found in Chandulal someone through whom they could access information about the internal affairs of the Nizam’s court in order to better influence those affairs. Chandulal hailed from a high-ranking Khatri family of Sikhs who originally came from Lahore (See Figure 1, p. 58). His bodyguards were Sikhs and he commanded the respect of some twelve hundred Sikh soldiers of the Nizam’s army.28 In 1810, he expressed his loyalty to the Company when he steered the Sikh leader, Ranjit Singh, away from forming an alliance with the Marathas against the British.29 The Chronology of Modern Hyderabad records his prominent role in state ceremonies, matters concerning the visits of the Company’s Residents, and advising the Nizam about the financial affairs of the state.30 Chandulal became a critical agent behind the growing nexus of interdependency between the Nizam, the British Resident, and the troops of the Subsidiary Force. Those who belonged to this nexus remained under the watchful eye of the Resident, who was keen on securing the Company’s best interests. Those who stood beyond the pale of this nexus, especially those who were adversely affected by the Nizam’s growing debts, posed a constant threat of disloyalty or rebellion. Sunil Chander has argued that disenfranchised Muslim nawabs and intermediaries in Hyderabad formed the political leadership of the Hyderabad mujahidin (religious warriors) who committed themselves to Mubariz’s anti-British campaign. He alludes to military creditors and revenue farmers who also supported the campaign.31 I am in agreement with 27

28 29

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31

Chandulal is said to have acted, for all practical purposes, as the Diwan with Munir ul-Mulk as his puppet. He went so far as to take Munir ul-Mulk’s royal seal from him. Zaib Hyder (trans.), Tarikh e-Asaf Jahi (Hyderabad: Andhra Pradesh Government Oriental Manuscript Library and Research Institute, 1994), 100. This book is a translation of the original (1851) Persian work by Khader Khan Munshi Bidri, who was a contemporary of many of the events discussed in the book. Wood, “Vassal State in the Shadow of Empire,” 54–55. An emissary of Ranjit Singh conveyed a letter to Chandulal, requesting his input concerning a potential alliance with the Marathas against the British. This exchange is recounted in a letter of Thomas Sydenham, the Resident of Hyderabad, quoted in Freedom Struggle in Hyderabad, 60–61. See, for instance, Chronology of Modern Hyderabad, 101–09, 180–84. His assumption of a role that eventually exceeded that of the Diwan, Munir ul-Mulk created conflict between the two appointees and further alienated the Resident from the Nizam. Chander, “From a Pre-Colonial Order to a Princely State,” 170–76. Chander’s brief summary of the Wahhabi agitations in Hyderabad does not mention by name these sympathetic nobles and creditors.

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Chander that structural problems of Hyderabad state created a climate of discontentment among various sections of society. While granting that local nawabs or jagirdars would have been adversely affected by the state’s debts, I am less convinced that they had lent substantial financial or military support for Mubariz’s campaign. In the decades following the Company’s conquest of Mysore (1799) and its Treaty of Subsidiary Alliance with Hyderabad, the Company was keen on pacifying armed intermediaries that could potentially rebel. The subjugation of princely states in South India was for the Company a key step toward restricting the means of violence to conventional armies brought under its control.32 The Company, as Mesrob Vartavarian has shown, found a way of turning leaders of independent warrior bands into settled landlords. “The imposition of order through the use of the military,” he contends, “was followed by generous concessions to warrior elites willing to remake themselves into landed gentry.”33 Within a state that had amassed huge debts and was increasingly dependent on the Company’s patronage, it would not have worked to the advantage of Arab Jamadars or other landed elites to lend this kind of support to a known troublemaker who had already spent considerable time in prison. Muslim reformers in Hyderabad drew their recruits primarily from Muslim soldiers and their families. It was to these soldiers, not to the samasthan kings or other influential participants in the Nizam’s durbars that Muhammadi reformers directed their message. Their recruits also included close associates or aids of Mubariz ud-Daula, some who had come to Hyderabad from Arabia or the Northwest Frontier. This fact positions Mubariz’s Wahhabi activities well beyond the inner circle of the Nizam and those who were devoted to him. During the 1820s and 1830s, the Nizam’s government had accumulated sizeable debts. From a severely limited revenue stream, the first obligation of Nizam Sikander Jah and his successor, Nasir ud-Daula was to pay the Subsidiary Force. In order to meet this ongoing obligation, the Nizams committed land revenues from large portions of their dominions.34 From 32

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This vision of the Company stood in contrast to its eighteenth-century policy of employing independent warrior bands in its campaigns to conquer powerful princely states. Mesrob Vartavarian, “An Open Military Economy: The British Conquest of South India Reconsidered, 1780–1799.” Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, Vol. 57, No. 4 (2014), 486–510. Mesrob Vartavarian, “Warriors and the Company State in South India, 1799–1801,” South Asia: Journal of South Asian Studies, Vol. 37, No. 2 (2014), 224. Wood, “Vassal State in the Shadow of Empire,” 56. From 1824–28, the cost of paying the British officers alone fluctuated with their head count, but amounted to as much as 1.3 million Hyderabad

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their exhausted treasury, the Nizams also had to fund the elaborate and frequent durbars at their court, support their dependents, and somehow maintain the Nizams’ own army. Such obligations were essential to maintaining the royal persona of Muslim princes. So closely tied was their prestige to their ability to maintain robust armies that dismantling the Nizam’s own army was not an option, as much as the Company had advised this.35 It was the hope of Company officials that these irregular troops would eventually be phased out, and that a consistently paid and well-trained Subsidiary Force would replace them. The Nizam’s army, however, was there to stay in spite of the challenge of paying the troops with any regularity. This contributed to persistent unrest among the Arabs, Pathans, and Rohillas who comprised the bulk of this force. In 1800, the Nizam’s army consisted of roughly 70,000 soldiers of Arab, Afghan, Rohilla, Sikh, African, and Hyderabadi descent. These numbers fluctuated over the next several decades, whether on account of downsizing by the Nizam or due to the influx of foreign mercenaries into the region (discussed in the previous chapter).36 A consistent problem faced by the Nizam’s government during the 1830s concerned the agitations of Arab and Rohilla soldiers who had not been paid, or were simply looking to enlist. These troops numbered roughly 40,000 men and drew two-thirds of the state’s revenues.37 British Residents and the Nizams came to view them as at best a nuisance, but more often as a threat to stability: Nearly 12,000 Rohillas, Arabs, Sikhs, and other brave but disorderly soldiers attended the Sovereign for purposes of display or spread terror through the city of Hyderabad. Those stationed in the country were employed more frequently as the instruments of oppression than as the preservers of the peace or protectors of the people. The Arabs and Rohillas were the terror of the whole country, and the Minister could not disband or reduce them without the risk of serious disturbance.38

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rupees. From a Minute of Charles Metcalfe, dated May 17, 1829. In Fraser, Memoir and Correspondence of General James Stuart Fraser, 74. “Relief can only be sought in a reduction of expense, and if the Nizam would but consent to disband the greater part of the numerous inefficient and useless troops, which are upheld for a purpose avowedly of utility, but practically of mischief, great resources would unquestionably be found.” N/a, “Hyderabad Papers (printed in conformity to the resolution of the Court of Proprietors of East India Stock), of the 3rd March, 1824,” The Calcutta Review, Volume 11, January-June, 1849, p. 145. These soldiers were of different classes. The cavalry, for instance, were divided into sarkari troops, financed directly by the Nizam’s treasury and jagirdari troops, who were paid from revenues from land arrangements. Wood, “Vassal State in the Shadow of Empire,” 47–48. Burton, A History of the Hyderabad Contingent, 117. This description of Burton applies to the years 1830–31. Ibid.

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In some instances, Arabs were able to enlist in the Nizam’s army by way of their service to a Jamadar. Jamadars were armed officials of Arab chiefs who controlled jagirs (land grants) and were in a position to maintain considerable numbers of soldiers. In 1830, the Jamadar Abdullah Ali Al Awlaqui joined the Nizam’s army with 1500 Arab soldiers, whom he paid with the income he drew from jagir lands.39 Through such means, many Arabs were incorporated into the Nizam’s army. As with Rohilla migrants, however, many more Arab soldiers remained on the fringes of the army, and as such placed the Nizam’s dominions under significant duress. An 1836 entry from the memoranda of the Resident Josiah Stewart (1830–38) illustrates the dilemma that these drifting soldiers posed for both the Resident and the Nizam: [The Rohillas] are now collected here, upwards of 1100. Of these 300 are in the service of the Government, 200 in Shams ul Umrah’s, 60 in Mubariz ud Daula, and 60 in the Cutwalls. The rest are in no service. The Minister proposes to send those that are in service into the country and by degrees to discharge them. If they refuse to go, he then proposes to discharge them and if they insist on remaining in the service, His Highness says the Bolarum troops should be sent, provided all the arrears and just demands of these people are paid.40

Several months later, Rohillas were again gathered in the city of Hyderabad, this time offering the Nizam a payment (nazr) of two lakhs of rupees in exchange for enlisting 1500 of them into his army. The Nizam “decidedly refused” their offer. The Minister Chandulal proposed to send out 1,000 Arab soldiers to confront them, warning them if they did not move in three days, the elite Bolaram troops would join the effort to subdue them.41 On numerous other occasions, troops of the Subsidiary Force were deployed in order to quell disturbances among the Nizam’s troops or among those wishing to join them. An 1837 entry from the memoranda of Resident James Cameron suggests that some of these disgruntled soldiers were responsible for Wahhabi

39 40 41

Leif Manger, “Hadramis in Hyderabad: From Winners to Losers,” Asian Journal of Social Science, Vol. 35 (2007), 412. Residents Memoranda. Entry for May 4, 1836. IOR R/2/89/315. The deployment of the Bolarum troops would require the approval of the Resident Josiah Stewart. He appears not to have sanctioned them on this occasion. In a similar incident the following year, he clearly refused to send the troops. Major Cameron’s Memoranda, 1837. March 3, 1837. In Resident’s Memoranda, India Office. IOR R/2/89/315. This is consistent with his being associated with the school of “noninterference” politicians. Charles Meadows Taylor, The Story of My Life (London: William Blackwood and Sons, 1882), 68.

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related agitations at Hyderabad. Chandulal had informed the Resident that someone had thrown a pig into a local mosque. He indicated that this was most likely the work of “Wahhabis protected by Mubariz ud-Daula’s followers.”42 He also indicated that he had spoken directly with Maulvi Salim, the reformer who had served as Mubariz’s closest advisor. These reports of the Hyderabad Residents demonstrate the links between Wahhabi agitations in Hyderabad, the affairs of Arab and Afghan troops, and the state’s financial realities.

Prince Mubariz ud-Daula’s Early Agitations The unrest of Arab and Afghan troops provided a context for Mubariz’s early agitations against the Nizam and the Company. These had occurred prior to his conversion to Wahhabism. Various accounts of these agitations, as we shall see, contain highly conflicting details. What they all tend to reveal, however, is a developing affinity between Mubariz and disenfranchised Arab and Afghan troops, and rising tension between Mubariz and his older brother, the Nizam. The first recorded instance of Mubariz’s hostility toward the state began as a quarrel in 1815 in the Residency bazaar. One of Mubariz’s servants named Sheereen had clashed with the tailor of the Resident Henry Russell. Sheereen reported the matter to Mubariz, who ordered that the tailor be “arrested.”43 When word of this incident reached Russell, he turned to the Nizam for a response. The Nizam ordered the arrest of those servants of Mubariz who had seized the tailor. Mubariz, however, refused to hand them over. The Nizam responded by sending a sizeable force to Mubariz’s palace: A detachment of 400 riflemen with 2 cannons are sent to the palace of Mubariz ud Daula; 30 rounds are fired, and also many arrows fly. 30 riflemen, one British soldier and 20 infantrymen lose their lives. At night, Shams ul Umara Bahadur with Minir ul Mulk and Shah Yar ul Mulk visit Mubariz ud Daula at his residence and endeavor to bring about some settlement.44 42

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He also spoke of a Pathan who planned on attacking D.A. Malcolm, the Assistant Resident. To these reports, Cameron stated that any action by the government would depend on the wishes of the Nizam. Major Cameron’s Memorada, dated March 3, 1837. Residents Memoranda 1833 IOR R/2/ 89/315 (n/p). This is the language used in The Freedom Struggle in Hyderabad, 120. It is unclear, however, what scope of authority Mubariz ud-Daula, as a prince, would have had to make an “arrest.” Chronology of Modern Hyderabad, 154.

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The seemingly disproportionate response to an altercation involving a tailor indicates that Mubariz had established a pattern of defiance requiring immediate and substantial state intervention. Mubariz and his Arab troops are said to have “put up a determined resistance,” inflicting “heavy casualties on the advancing column.”45 Musketry fire from Mubariz’s troops, stationed on the roofs of his palace, was so heavy that many troops were forced to retreat. Only after such a severe confrontation were Mubariz and his brother finally arrested and placed in confinement at the Golconda Fort. In a separate account of the incident, Mubariz’s younger brother, Shams ud-Daula had assisted him in seizing the tailor. Upon Mubariz’s ensuing imprisonment, Nizam Nasir ud-Daula’s wife and his mother, Chandni Begum pleaded with him for Mubariz’s release. The Nizam declined and shared his suspicion that the begums wanted to “get rid of [him] and not the English.”46 This would not be the only occasion when the mother, Chandni Begum would act on Mubariz’s behalf. The Chronology, which reflects the perspective of the Daftar-i-Diwani (the office of the Diwan), keeps Chandulal (then the Peshkar) out of the picture and has the Diwan, Munir ul-Mulk working with Shams ul-Umrah to reconcile Mubariz with the Nizam. They brought Mubariz to the Nizam’s palace where he spent the night. It was only to appease the Resident, however, that the Nizam decided to imprison his brother at the Golconda Fort. He remained in confinement for five years.47 This tendency on the part of the Daftar-i-Diwani to downplay any antipathy between the Nizam and his younger brother stands in contrast to colonial accounts, which place far more emphasis on the fraternal conflict. Fourteen years later (1829), Mubariz was involved in another confrontation with authorities. The details provided in Khader Khan Munshi Bidri’s Tarikh-e-Asaf Jahi (1851; hereafter, Khader Khan) have Mubariz in this instance coming to the aid of his brother-in-law, Imtiaz ud-Daula, also known as Minha Sahib. He was the jagirdar of Kalyan and Mugdal (towns located in the northern region of Hyderabad State) and was married to the second sister of Mubariz, Kamal un-Nissa. It appears that Minha Sahib used to beat his wife. Nizam Nasir ud-Daula and his mother (Chandni 45 46 47

N/a, “Disturbances in Hyderabad City, August 1815,” O.S. Crofton, Inscriptions on Tombs or Monuments in H.E.H. the Nizam’s Dominions (Madras: G.S. Press, 1941), 4. Walter Hamilton, A Geographical, Statistical and Historical Description of Hindustan and the Adjacent Countries, Vol. II (London: John Murray, 1820), 134. Chronology of Modern Hyderabad, 155.

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Begum) believed that Minha Sahib’s “ill treatment” of Kamal un-Nissa (their sister and daughter respectively) resulted in her 1828 death. Seeking to avenge the loss of his sister, Nizam Nasir ud-Daula sent troops to attack the Fort at Mugdal. A battle ensued, during which time Minha Sahib apparently sought refuge in his other Fort at Kalyan.48 At Kalyan, however, he was betrayed by his own qiladar (fort commander), detained, and eventually imprisoned at the Fort of Bidar.49 Upon hearing of Minha Sahib’s imprisonment, Mubariz assembled a force at Hyderabad city, consisting of several hundred Arab and Deccani foot soldiers and horsemen and proceeded to launch an insurrection against his brother.50 Why exactly Mubariz had sided with Minha Sahib is unclear. Had he been planning this all along, or was he acting impulsively? His actions elicited a swift response from the Nizam, who sent a large number of troops to surround Mubariz’s residence.51 What follows only in Khader Khan’s account are a series of negotiations between Mubariz and the Nizam concerning the payment of Mubariz’s troops. These are significant details because they highlight the fact that as a prince, Mubariz had soldiers of his own that should have been paid from the Nizam’s treasury. In this instance, the fact that his troops had not been paid allowed him to leverage his case against his brother in spite of his own hostile behavior. In the events that follow, Mubariz emerges as a leader of Arab and Afghan soldiers. These soldiers lived beyond an inner circle consisting of the Nizam, the Resident and his Subsidiary Force, and the nobles attending the Nizam’s royal durbars. As the troops surrounded Mubariz’s palace, Chandulal and Munir ul-Mulk assembled a group to negotiate with Mubariz. They essentially offered to pay the arrears of the salary of Mubariz’s troops if Mubariz disassembled them.52 Mubariz initially was willing to accept this offer, but 48 49

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Zaib Hyder (trans.), Tarikh- e-Asaf Jahi, 111–13. He was imprisoned for three years, before negotiations with Chandulal and Nizam Nasir ud-Daula led to his release and resumption of his jagirs at Kalyan and Mugdal. Zaib Hyder (trans.), Tarikh-eAsaf Jahi, 113. Khader Khan’s originally Persian history provides a few additional details: That a man disguised as a Derwish (here, the designation refers generically to a Sufi holy man) had initially assembled three hundred Arab and Deccani soldiers in response to Minha Sahib’s detention at Bidar. When Chandulal ordered the arrest of this Derwish, Mubariz sheltered him. It appears that Mubariz absorbed the Derwish’s troops into his own, since later on in the account, his troops number roughly 1,000. Ibid, 112–14. The Nizam sent his troops to surround Mubariz’s residence on November 12, 1829. Chronology of Modern Hyderabad, 192. His troops now were positioned on the land of a sympathetic noble named Ali Jah. Hyder, Tarikh-eAsaf Jahi, 114.

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upon hearing that the Nizam, in consultation with the Resident William Martin, had authorized the deployment of English troops, he changed his mind.53 On November 18, 1829, the commander of the English troops appeared to have reached a settlement with Mubariz, whereby Mubariz was paid what was owed to his troops.54 At least for a time, he seemed to have been pacified. Thereafter, Mubariz and Minha Sahib (alias Imtiaz ud-Daula) appear to have been signatories of a letter to the Nizam asking for forgiveness and assuring him of their loyalty.55 They received the following response from the Nizam’s government: Received the letter requesting forgiveness, promising that the bonds of loyalty shall not be breached and seeking blessing and permission [to come]. The request has been considered and pardon has been bestowed, but keeping in view the orders of Allah you should not act disloyally in any matter and be careful and vigilant in being loyal.56

As much as one might expect such an exchange to have brought closure to Mubariz’s conflict with the government, this was hardly the case. Over the next several months, Mubariz must have continued to create disturbances in Hyderabad city because on April 17, 1830 the Nizam once again ordered his arrest and imprisonment at the Golconda Fort. The Fort housed a massive treasury, which one source valued at roughly 100 lakhs rupees (one million pounds sterling).57 During Mubariz’s confinement, the Nizam made arrangements for the transfer of that treasury from Fort to his palace. When a rumor had spread that Mubariz was obstructing this transfer, the Nizam sent several thousand of his own troops to the Fort. The ensuing confrontation once again led the Nizam, on Chandulal’s advice, to request the deployment of the Bolarum troops. The commander that was sent to Golconda, Philip Meadows Taylor, was a renowned English officer of the Subsidiary Force. Shortly after his arrival in India in 1824, Taylor had served the Hyderabad army in a variety 53 54 55 56

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Chronology of Modern Hyderabad, 193–94. Hyder, Tarikh-e-Asaf Jahi, 115 and Chronology of Modern Hyderabad, 192. A third signatory was Samsam ud-Daula. In this instance, Samsam ud-Daula may have been an alternate rendering of Shams ud-Daula, Mubariz’s brother. Letter to Samsam ud Daula, Mubariz ud Daula, Imtiyaz ud Daula (n/d). Persian (translated by Syed Hashmi Iliyas). Andhra Pradesh State Archives and Research Institute, Register No 6, Sl no 1516, Asal Inayatnama Mubariz ud Dowla. This was Philip Meadows Taylor’s appraisal. Given his tendency to embellish facts (discussed below), it is difficult to imagine the Nizam possessing a treasure of this size and still being in a perpetual state of debt.

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of capacities. From 1826 to 1829, he was Superintendent of Bazaars at Bolarum and Assistant Superintendent of Police in the Southwestern Districts of Hyderabad state.58 From 1841, he served as Political Agent at Shorapur, a small princely state located in a Kannada speaking region of the South. Taylor made a name for himself through his knowledge of Persian and Hindustani, fictional writings, and service to the Company during the events of 1857.59 The account that Taylor provides of his negotiations with Mubariz differs considerably from that of Khader Khan, but provides important details concerning the affinity developing between Mubariz and Arab and Afghan members of the Nizam’s army. As in Khader Khan’s account, Taylor begins by describing events in the town of Kalyan. He too refers to the younger sister of the Nizam (Kamal un-Nissa) who was “married to the Lord of Kalianee [Minha Sahib],” a man who had “ill-used and even struck her.”60 Taylor, however, claims that Kamal un-Nissa had wandered from the Fort at Kalyan “daring [Minha Sahib’s] people to molest her,” had sought refuge “under the English flag,” and had found in Taylor a safe escort to the city of Hyderabad. If Khader Khan was correct in stating that Kamal un-Nissa had died in 1828, Taylor was either fabricating his heroism or narrating an episode that had occurred in an entirely different context.61 This anecdote of Taylor (falling under the section heading 1830–31) immediately precedes his account of Mubariz “press[ing] claims against his brother” and being confined to the Golconda Fort. Taylor describes the masses of Hyderabadi troops that went to Golconda in response to Mubariz’s attempt to seize control of the treasury. His account presents the contours of a rising insurgency: Five thousand Arabs, Rohillas, Sikhs, and other foreign levies, including some of the old French “Ligne,” were marched out to Golcondah, and took up a position in the outer enceinte; but they made no impression on the Prince, and indeed were supposed to be well affected towards him. 58

59 60 61

David Finklestein, Philip Meadows Taylor: A Bibliography. Victorian Fiction Research Guide, No. 18 (Queensland: Victorian Fiction Research Unit, 1990), 5–7. Taylor was Deputy Commissioner of the Ceded Districts during the 1857 Rebellion. Burton, A History of the Hyderabad Contingent, 239. See also Taylor, Confessions of a Thug (London: Richard Bentley, 1839). Taylor leaves Kamal un-Nissa unnamed. Taylor, The Story of My Life, 70. Taylor’s narration follows the familiar colonial trope of a “white man saving a brown woman from a brown man” not unlike what is found in accounts of sati in colonial India. See Lata Mani, Contentious Traditions: The Debate about Sati in Colonial India (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998). A sati, incidentally, was performed at Hyderabad on May 11, 1831. Chronology of Modern Hyderabad, 199.

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After days of useless negotiation, the Minister, on the part of the Nizam, requested the assistance of the Bolarum Contingent; so we all marched out on the 6th January 1831, and encamped opposite the north or Delhi gate, on the plain on which stands the noble mausoleums of the Kootub Shahy Kings. It was an absurd state of affairs. The interior was held by the rebel Prince, the outer enceinte by the Nizam’s levies, who also treated us as enemies, not only refusing to allow us to enter, but threatening to fire on us, and training the fort guns on the wall so as to command our camp.62 (my italics)

Here, Taylor drew attention to fissures developing within the ranks of the troops: Those in the interior of the Fort were Mubariz’s own loyal troops, whereas the “five thousand” camped near the outer enceinte were the Nizam’s troops, apparently sent to intimidate Mubariz into compliance. Taylor appeared to have been surprised by their favorable disposition toward Mubariz and hostility toward his better-paid Bolarum regiment. Taylor’s troops guarded the location of the treasury while “the Nizam’s people” began transferring it to the Nizam’s palace. Over the span of several days, letters passed between Mubariz and Taylor by means of Mubariz’s munshi (Persian writer or translator). According to Taylor, Mubariz’s messages were violent in tone initially, but gradually became more irenic.63 It was Mubariz who proposed what ultimately ended a standoff involving thousands of troops. According to Taylor, Mubariz requested that the Nizam send their common mother, Chandni Begum, to the Fort to “make arrangements for his brother’s return.”64 This proposal resulted, according to Taylor, in an overwhelmingly reconciliation. Chandni Begum had reported to Taylor that she and her son had “fallen on each other’s necks and wept much.”65 Overcome with gratitude and goodwill, Mubariz offered Taylor jewels and other gifts valued at 20,000 rupees, which he declined to accept. This account is riddled with problems. In none of the other sources does Chandni Begum actually negotiate Mubariz’s release from confinement. The Chronology simply has her remaining at the Fort “for the sake of her son.”66 In fact, it is difficult to discern from any of the sources precisely how long Mubariz had remained in confinement before he returned to his princely residence at Hyderabad. What we do gain from Taylor is a clear sense from an officer on the ground of the divided loyalties among the troops. As someone who had much at stake in possessing this information, 62 65 66

63 64 Taylor, The Story of My Life, 72. Ibid, 74. Ibid, 75. Ibid, 76. See also, Chronology of Modern Hyderabad, 198. The Chronology of Modern Hyderabad, 198.

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Taylor’s observations regarding the affinity between the Nizam’s troops and Mubariz are the most reliable aspect of his narrative. These pre-Wahhabi activities of Mubariz ud-Daula provide a context for the role he would eventually play in the Wahhabi conspiracy; but context is a far cry from causality. Most of the intelligence about the conspiracy was derived from Muslim detainees. Their testimonies provide key information about the networks maintained by Mubariz and the manner in which reformist preachers had infiltrated the ranks of the troops. Their words tell us far less about which sections of the troops were most responsive to their calls to jihad. What we can observe in the next section is some degree of continuity between Mubariz’s long-standing opposition to the state and his charismatic leadership in the movement begun by Sayyid Ahmad.

Mubariz the Wahhabi The primary enquiries into Mubariz ud-Daula’s role in the Wahhabi conspiracy occurred during the Residency of James Stuart Fraser (1838–52, see Figure 2). In contrast to Charles Metcalfe who was quite critical of the Company’s interference in Hyderabadi affairs, Fraser consistently advocated for expanding the scope of the Company’s involvement and control. Upon beginning his tenure as Resident in 1838, he complained in a letter to Lord Auckland that Chandulal was deliberately isolating him from persons of influence.67 In the same letter, he described the “evils” that afflicted Hyderabad State in its army, finances, courts, police, and educational institutions. The burden of having to cooperate with the Nizam had only impeded much needed change. Nothing short of “an actual assumption of the government of the country,” he claimed, would provide remedy to the state’s deficiencies.68 Shortly after he became Resident, Fraser made the Wahhabi conspiracy his signature issue, if not his obsession. As evidence increasingly pointed to 67

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“From a jealousy on the part of the Minister, in which he has apparently induced the Nizam to participate, scarcely any person above the rank of a merchant or soucar, or at most, some native gentleman who happens to be entirely unconnected with the Government, is ever permitted to come near me.” Fraser to Governor General Auckland, dated Hyderabad, April 6, 1839 in Fraser, Memoir and Correspondence of General James Stewart Fraser of the Madras Army, 41. Ibid, 44–45. Stressing the weakness, inefficiency, debts, and poor management of the Nizam’s government, Fraser at the end of his term (1852) pondered a proposal “for the cession of the whole of the Nizam’s country to our sole and exclusive management and authority for a definite number of years.” IOR India (Political Department). Affairs of the Nizam. India and Bengal Despatches, 5th November 1851 to January 28, 1852, 562–65.

Mubariz the Wahhabi

Figure 2

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James Stuart Fraser (1783 1869)

Hyderabad as the center of the conspiracy, Fraser acquired a tool in this Wahhabi scare for gaining the information and control he sought. By 1839, he oversaw a massive intelligence-gathering operation, which enlisted the aid of officials at Bombay and Calcutta and a network of police throughout South India. By sounding the alarm of Wahhabism, Fraser commanded the cooperation of the Nizam, Chandulal, and police scattered about the Deccan who fed him information. He also gained an audience with the higher ranks of the Company for whom he supplied details collected from the ground.69 To learn more about Mubariz’s plans, Fraser employed a Persian named Assadullah Sherazee. Assadullah was well acquainted with the cotwal (chief of police) of Hyderabad, Hussein Ali Khan and Suraj ud-Daula, the son of the late Hyderabad Minister Munir ul-Mulk. These contacts provided him with insights into the inner politics of the state. From Assadullah, Fraser 69

Authorities at Fort Saint George and Simlah tended to temper Fraser’s claims about the reach of the Conspiracy.

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learned of Mubariz’s contentious relationship with his brother (the Nizam) and his ties to Wahhabis. Assadullah claimed that Mubariz never attended his brother’s Durbar or showed him any mark of respect. The Nizam, in turn, hated Mubariz on account of his “restless, cruel and intriguing spirit.”70 Regarding Mubariz’s Wahhabi ties, Assadullah noted that Mubariz had become the “acknowledged head of the sect in this part of the country” and had recently sent a number of emissaries to Bombay in order to gain proselytes to his creed.71 Even in this connection, Fraser maintained that Mubariz’s Wahhabi activities served as a pretext “in furtherance of some intrigue for his own aggrandizement.”72 Believing Mubariz ud-Daula to be the leader of a vast confederacy, Fraser wasted no time in extracting from police and Muslim detainees all the information he could about the prince, his Wahhabi cohorts, and their designs. Fraser knew he had to gain access to Mubariz’s palace, which had become the conspiracy’s headquarters.73 Mubariz’s closest associates and a number of recruits resided there and received from him a small salary. To learn more about this inner circle, Fraser employed a Konkani Muslim named Ibrahim.74 From Ibrahim and other sources, Fraser became better informed about the chain of command within the conspiracy and their methods for obtaining recruits. Among those with whom Ibrahim had gained an interview was Maulvi Salim, who resided at the palace. Fraser became convinced that even though Mubariz was the acknowledged leader of the conspiracy, he was strongly influenced by Maulvi Salim. It was Salim, he believed, who converted Mubariz to Wahhabism and continued to advise him on all matters pertaining to the campaign. He

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71 72

73 74

Robert Clerk, Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George concerning a memorandum he received from James Fraser, Resident at Hyderabad. TNA No. 138 (Secret), February 12, 1839, 151. The document switches between Fraser’s voice and Clerk’s interaction with it. Based on what Fraser has said elsewhere, it appears that much of the document simply reproduces Fraser’s memorandum. Ibid. Ibid. Fraser concluded that Assadullah’s input was not as developed as he had wished. It was largely based on casual reports, which had reached him. He therefore urged Assadullah to gather more credible, inside intelligence. Faisal Ahmed Bhatkal Nadwi, Tahreek-e-Aazadi Mein Ulama Ka Kirdar (Urdu) (Lucknow: Academy of Islamic Research and Publication, 2003), 465. Extract, Fort St. George Secret Consultation of May 14, 1839. IOR F/4/1876. File 79782, 101–02. Seema Alavi reads too much in to the use of a Persian (whom she does not name) to spy on the operations of Mubariz ud-Daula. Claiming “this was no casual choice,” Alavi contends that this choice reflects Fraser’s awareness of the “Arabicist” underpinnings of the ‘Wahabi menace’.” See Alavi, Muslim Cosmopolitanism in the Age of Empire, 51. The records I have consulted indicate that Fraser employed Assadullah Sherazee and Ibrahim on account the offices they held and their access to specific kinds of information, not their ethnicity or service to a broader politics of culture.

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had achieved “so complete an ascendancy that the entire management of [Mubariz’s] affairs is left in his hands, and nothing done without his advice and cognizance as he is of shrewd and intriguing character.”75 Salim, a native of Lucknow, played a key role in coordinating the proselytizing of troops at Secunderabad and maintaining written correspondence with Wahhabis in other parts of India. So prominent a maulvi had Salim become in Hyderabad that Nizam Nasir ud-Daula called on his chief Qazi to denounce him as someone who was propagating “heterodox doctrines” and issue an appropriate punishment.76 Interestingly, Salim (originally Wazir Ali Abdul Rhyman) denied ever having corresponded with other Wahhabi maulvis concerning the topic of jihad. “I have received and written no letters,” he insisted, “except private ones for family affairs.”77 Moreover, he described his relationship with Mubariz to be that of a paid teacher: I [arrived at Hyderabad] about six years ago. I lived with maulvi Shuja ud Din for one year after my arrival when Sayyid Abbas came to me one day and informed me that Mubariz ud Daula wished to see me. I went to him, when he said that having no maulvi he wanted to retain me in his service if I wished. I consented. He first gave me 60 rupees a month, afterwards 100 rupees and an allowance of 50 rupees for students in the Madrassa. I have been in Mubariz ud Daula’s service ever since . . . I had a dispute several years ago with maulvis Shuja ud Din and Hyder Sahib respecting the number of genuflections necessary in worship, in conse quence of which I am called a Wahhabi.78

Salim’s words are not inconsistent with those who have stressed his profound influence on the Prince. His emphasis on his role as a paid employee of Mubariz, however, conveys a sense of his subordinate status. In contrast to Fraser’s focus on Salim, the literature on Hyderabad’s Wahhabi movement places a stronger emphasis on the role of Wilayat Ali. Many sources trace Mubariz ud-Daula’s earliest exposure to the tenets of the Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah to the early 1830s, when Wilayat Ali was in Hyderabad. They present Wilayat Ali as being most influential in converting Mubariz to the order. As Qeyamuddin Ahmad writes: Having arrived in Hyderbad he started his missionary and preaching activities. In course of time his fame as a preacher reached [Mubariz 75 76 77

Fraser to the Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George, March 14, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 302. T.V. Stonhouse to James Fraser. TNA No. 139 (Secret), March 26, 1839, 683. 78 Testimony of Maulvi Salim, August 8, 1839. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 249. Ibid.

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Prince Mubariz ud-Daula ud Daula] who deputed two of his learned men, Zainul Abedin and Muhammad Abbas, to meet Wilayat Ali. They both took Bai’at on Wilayat Ali and were later appointed as his “Khalifas”. [Mubariz ud Daula] himself took Bai’at and became an ardent follower of the Movement.79

Two concurrent developments cast some doubt, however, on this standard rendition of Mubariz’s conversion to Wahhabism: Mubariz was supposed to have been in confinement at the Golconda Fort during Wilayat Ali’s time in Hyderabad; and shortly after 1831, Wilayat Ali had left Hyderabad for Patna. Barring the possibility that Wilayat Ali had converted Mubariz while Mubariz was in confinement (which no source mentions), they do not appear to have had opportunities for direct contact.80 In 1829, Sayyid Ahmad had sent the Ali brothers (Wilayat and Inayat Ali) to the Deccan. In 1831, Wilayat Ali had replaced Muhammad Ali Rampuri as the Khalifa of the Deccan (see Chapter 1). During Wilayat Ali’s stay in Hyderabad he married the daughter of a nobleman named Mirza Wahid Beg. This marriage, however, did not tie him permanently to Hyderabad and its politics. Not long after he learned of Sayyid Ahmad’s death at Balakot (1831), Wilayat Ali returned to Patna where he assumed leadership of the movement.81 Quite plausibly, Wilayat’s departure from Hyderabad created a leadership vacuum that Mubariz eventually filled. Testimonies of detainees seem aligned with this scenario. The following sections draw heavily from the testimonies of those maulvis who, on June 15, 1839, were arrested with Mubariz. Ra’isul Muslimin (Leader of the Muslims) Muhammed Ali Jaweed was employed as a teacher for Mubariz’s family for nearly sixteen years. He traces Mubariz’s conversion not to one individual, but to the influence of a number of Wahhabis, including Maulvi Salim, Sayyid

79

80

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Qeyamuddin Ahmad, The Wahabi Movement in India, 125. See also Mohiuddin Ahmad, Saiyid Ahmad Shahid: His Life and Mission (Lucknow: Natwatul Ulama, 1975), 308–09; Ritu Chaturvedi, Bihar Through the Ages, Vol. 3 (New Delhi: Sarup and Sons, 2007), 299–300; and Bhatkal Nadwi, Tahreek-e-Aazadi Mein Ulama Ka Kirdar (Urdu), 466. Nadwi appears to have drawn his details about Wilayat Ali’s influence from Qeyamuddin Ahmad’s work. This is confirmed by Faisal Nadwi, who maintains that Mubariz “sent two of his companions Moulvi Zain ul Abideen and Moulvi Mohammed Abbas to meet Moulana Vilayat Ali.” After his envoys became disciples of Vilayat Ali, Mubariz also joined the movement. Tahreek-e-Aazadi Mein Ulama Ka Kirdar, 466. Qeyamuddin Ahmad, The Wahabi Movement in India, 102.

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Abbas, Abdul Hadi, and Abdul Ruzzaq, who, around the year 1834, had frequented his palace, “began to teach and preach to him their religion [and] likewise excited him with a desire of warring against infidels and obtaining a kingdom.”82 Jaweed also stated that Sayyid Abbas and Abdul Hadi had brought papers to Mubariz from Wilayat Ali (along with Muhammed Ali and Nasiruddin, the Nawab of Sindh), which “constituted [Mubariz] a Khalifa.”83 From Jaweed’s testimony, it appears that Wilayat Ali had been absent during these formative stages of Mubariz’s life as a Wahhabi. Sayyid Haji Ishmael, a native of Madras, claimed to have served Mubariz for twelve years. This places him in the prince’s employ before his conversion. Haji Ishmael stated that it was one Qazi Asif who made a proselyte of Mubariz. Over the course of a month, Qazi Asif met with Mubariz to discuss religious topics. He described to him the merits of “warring against the infidels” and told him “those who did not become converts were wicked.”84 Such exhortations, according to Haji Ishmael, are what influenced Mubariz to become a convert. Haji Ishmael also provided interesting details concerning doctrinal disagreements that arose between Wahhabis and other Muslim clerics of Hyderabad. These seem to have made an impact on Mubariz: Rather more than four years ago during the month of Ramadan, when the followers of the Sunni creed perform twenty genuflexions, Maulvi Salim said “what necessity is there to do so twenty times [?], eight are sufficient.” Accordingly Maulvi Salim acting as the Pesh [Imam] dispensed with the performance of twenty and restricted himself to only eight genuflections in the presence of Mubariz ud Daula, myself, and others. In this manner the month of Ramadan was passed. Afterwards a message was received from Maulvi Shujah ud Din, Maulvi Hyder and others asking how he came to perform only the eight genuflexions. In reply to this Maulvi Salim and Mubariz ud Daula said that the Prophet performed both the twenty and eight genuflections. Maulvi Hyder then told them that their creed was a wicked and a false one. In this manner the dispute was continued for a period of nearly a month. After this Maulvi Salim, Syed Abbas, and Abdul Hadi, Uftal Khan sent for a person named Qazi Asif and introduced him to Mubariz ud Daula.85 82 83 84

85

Testimony of Muhammed Ali Jaweed, June 22, 1839. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 173. Ibid, 173–74. Proceedings of a Board of Commission appointed to enquire into the conduct of certain persons apprehended in the charge of having been engaged in seditious designs against the state. Testimony of Hajee Ismail. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 164. Proceedings of a Board of Commission appointed to enquire into the conduct of certain persons apprehended in the charge of having been engaged in seditious designs against the state. Testimony of Hajee Ismail. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 164.

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Such statements reveal a religious dimension to the Wahhabi agenda in Hyderabad. They concern the reformist critique of cherished rituals observed by Hyderabadi Muslims. Reformers had branded as false religious innovations (bidat) the genuflections accompanying the salat (daily canonical prayers) and other rituals.86 In this instance, it was the Maulvi Hyder who branded the Wahhabi creed a “wicked and false one.” Most likely, Maulvi Hyder, like the Qazi sent by the Nizam, had the backing of the Nizam (who was in turn backed by the Company). Their denunciation of Wahhabism, however, worked against a populist movement that, since the early 1830s, had made significant inroads into Hyderabad’s Muslim population. According to historian Rajendra Prasad, Wahhabis in Hyderabad numbered no less than 20,000 by the time of Mubariz’s 1839 arrest.87 Responding to reports that the faith of Muslims was in decline in Hyderabad,88 Muhammadi reformers concentrated their efforts on the Deccan and made a khalifa of the Nizam’s younger brother. According to Haji Ishmael, Mubariz planned to imprison his brother, the Nizam and give him an ultimatum: He would either be placed in confinement or put to death.89 Regardless of who it was that converted Mubariz to Wahhabism, they clearly found in him someone who possessed the resources and charisma to lead. Beyond the material capital he held as a prince (a palace, a portion from the royal treasury to pay his cohort and army, servants, etc.) and his reputation for challenging the establishment, Mubariz soon acquired spiritual capital through his devotion to his new creed. He is said to have adopted a temperate lifestyle, abandoning all un-Islamic practices and

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Harlan Pearson observes that Indian Muslims, including prominent members of the ulama, “vigorously opposed” the teachings of the Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah because of their attack on various local observances and rituals. This hostility was linked, at least in part, to the Wahhabi occupation of the Hijaz in the early nineteenth century and the destruction of the tomb of the Prophet Muhammad. Even though the two movements were not linked, the activities of Wahhabis had given them a bad name in Hyderabad, making the label “Wahhabi” a pejorative designation that could be applied to followers of Sayyid Ahmad. The perception of Wahhabis as fanatical and extreme was not purely a colonial attribution, but was propagated by Indian Muslim opponents of the movement as well. Harlan Pearson, Islamic Reform and Revival in Nineteenth Century India: The Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah, 197–99. Rajendra Prasad, Asif Jahs of Hyderabad: Their Rise and Decline (Hyderabad: Prachee, 1984), 75. The figure of 20,000 Wahhabis in Hyderabad city is also provided in The Freedom Struggle in Hyderabad, 127. The witness Abdul Hadi describes how unconverted Muslims had given the followers of Sayyid Ahmad a bad name, “calling us Wahabees.” Testimony of Abdul Hadi. IOR F/4/1880. File 79795, 216. Testimony of Hajee Ismail. IOR F/4/1880. File 79795, 169.

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sending away his concubines.90 He and his close associates are also said to have strictly observed sharia law.91 One witness described in some detail the manner in which he rode his camel each day, a seemly mundane allusion perhaps aimed at casting him in the likeness of the Prophet Muhammad, who traveled by camel. Another described how Wahhabi leaders from Tonk and Sindh had praised Mubariz for his “great merits as [a] promoter of the faith and a religious man and wished that all Mussalmen were equally so.”92 In a letter addressed to Nasiruddin at Sindh, Mubariz responded with great appreciation for these words of praise, also indicating that he had sent a hundi worth 1,000 rupees to Sindh to support the work there.93 The esteem in which other khalifas held Mubariz was not limited to verbal praise. In their written correspondence with each other, khalifas of Sindh, Tonk, and Bombay granted their approval for the engraving of a seal for Mubariz.94 Representing royal authority within many Islamic contexts, seals were crafted by trained seal engravers for kings, who used them to sign letters, official documents, or firmans (royal decrees). Typically seals were inscribed with Quranic verses, titles of the ruler, or the name of a prominent person of his lineage.95 The seal for Mubariz read, “Umar Bin Abdul Aziz the Second Chief of the Martyred Syed Ahmed.” Fraser learned of this seal by deposing its engraver, Muhammed Fyzullah. Afterwards, he became convinced that Mubariz had been acknowledged as the “head of the sect throughout India.”96 The seal, after all, appeared to have cast Mubariz in the theological lineage of Abdul Aziz (son of Shah Waliullah) and as the one who had succeeded the martyred Sayyid Ahmad.97 90 91 92 93 94

95 96 97

Ahmad, Saiyid Ahmad Shahid: His Life and Mission, 308. Bhatkal Nadwi, Tahreek-e-Aazadi Mein Ulama Ka Kirdar, 466. Testimony of Sayyid Aman Ullah. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 227. Ibid. An account of British interests in Sindh during the early 1840s is provided in James Outram, The Conquest of Scinde: A Commentary (Quetta, Pakistan: Abid Bokhari, 1978). These included Maulvis Nasir ud-Din of Sindh, Wazir ud-Daula of Tonk, and Qazi Yusef of Bombay. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 127–29. One letter dated at the beginning of 1838 introduces one Abdul Azim Khan as the bearer of letters from Wazir ud-Daula and other chiefs and states that he is coming to Hyderabad. The letter asks that he be given “‘private interviews’ with the Raees ul Musselmeen (Mubariz ud-Daula) so that he may give an account of the maulvis and so that an “epistolary correspondence” [may be] established between Tonk and Mubariz ud-Daula.” From Major G. Hutton, 22nd Rgmt and Capt. D. Malcolm, Ass. Rsdt to Fraser, May 19, 1840. F/4/1880, File 79795, 128. See Annabel The Gallop, “The Genealogical Seal of the Mughal Emperors of India,” Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society of Great Britain and Ireland, Vol. 9, No. 01 (April, 1999), 77–140. Memorandum, p. 13, May 1, 1839. IOR F/4/1880. File 79795, 31. See “Translation of the Titles engraved on the seal as written by the Seal Engraver.” It read, “The Protector of the Established Religion, the Defender of the Faith and of Mussalmen Abdul Aziz. Mubariz ud-Daula.” IOR F/4/1876, File 79782, 293.

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It was soon discovered that Mubariz had not one but three seals engraved for him. The two other seals read “Defender of the Established Faith, Protector of Islam, Mubariz ud-Daula” and “Ra’isul Muslimin” or “Leader of the Muslims.”98 As much as these titles signified Mubariz’s central role in coordinating operations from Hyderabad, they represented for Fraser his subversion of the authority of the Nizam and opposition to the Company. From the deposition of Muhammed Jaweed, Fraser learned that Mubariz might have taken the initiative of claiming for himself the title “Ra’isul Muslimin.” The examination of Jaweed reveals the interplay between what others said about Mubariz and how he appropriated those designations in the form of a seal: q: a:

q: a:

Did you ever hear the subject of the seal mentioned in the presence of Mubariz ud Daula or did you ever speak on the subject? I one day addressed Mubariz ud Daula and mentioned it was the common report that he had a seal engraved with certain titles on it. He replied, “what titles?” I was about to answer when he added, “I have had Abdul Aziz engraved on a seal.” I remarked there is nothing wrong if that be all, but I have heard there is another title. He then said “did you hear that it was Raees ool Moosulmeen?” I said it was. He denied it, but added “the khalifas of Sayyid Ahmad address me in writing by that title.” There is no doubt, however, that the seal was made. It was the common talk of the attendants of the palace. With what intention was the seal prepared? Mubariz ud Daula had many converts himself and I believe it was intended to stamp the Shujumamahs/Genealogical Trees/of which 600 were at one time prepared.99

Based on this exchange, two points are worth noting: First, the issue of Mubariz’s seals was not beyond interrogation. Jaweed appears to have used his standing as a teacher within the family to question whether the title, “Ra’isul Muslimin” went a step too far. Mubariz’s response that the seal simply presented a title that khalifas had used in their correspondence with him still indicates an element of his own agency in the matter.100 Second, within the framework of the Muhammadi movement, it shows the importance of maintaining a sense of genealogical legitimacy. This seems to have played a significant role in enhancing Mubariz’s persona in the eyes of 98 99 100

The transcribed Arabic for the second seal is unclear. Will have to follow this up with help. Fraser, Memoir and Correspondence of General James Stuart Fraser, 63. Testimony of Muhammed Ali Jaweed, June 22, 1839. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 175–76. In a similar manner, the Nawab of Kurnool, Alif Khan, had designated his sixth son, Ghulam Rasul Khan, as his heir on the basis of Company officials referring to him as “Bahadur Ghulam Rasul Khan.” This is discussed in the next chapter.

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converts. Given the towering influence of Sayyid Ahmad and Abdul Aziz (see previous chapter), it was no small matter for Mubariz to be placed in the lineage of their charismatic leadership. Muhammed Maqdum, an accountant who had resided at Mubariz’s palace for a year and a half, provided information that underscored the legitimacy of the seals. Prior to Mubariz’s 1839 arrest, the police at Secunderabad had seized a copy of a pamphlet in Hindi verse entitled Risala Jihad (Message [of] Holy War).101 The nephew of Maulvi Halim had published the pamphlet at his press in Bombay and gave Mubariz 600 copies for distribution in Hyderabad.102 On the third page of the pamphlet, there was a reference to a leader who would “spring up” from among the descendants of the prophets. When asked to which person this sentence refers, Muhammed Muqdum replied: In the original poem written by Khoram Ali, the name of Sayyid Ahmad was inserted as the leader, but when written. [but] on reading this printed edition I observed it was omitted and on enquiring why this was done Halim told me that Qazi Yoosef (whom I have heard is the great Qazi of Bombay in the service of Government) had struck it out in order that people might not know it was written by one of the Wahhabi faith. I cannot speak positively to whom allusion is made, as the person who has now “sprung up” but I think it means Mubariz ud Daula because the maulvis address him both verbally and in writing as “Raees ool Moosulmeen” and when they were talking of getting a seal engraved, they said that this title would be a proper one for him. . . . On one occasion Mubariz ud Daula was sitting in durbar with eight or ten maulvis when Salim, Abdul Hadi and others addressing the Prince said he was in every way worthy of the title of “Raees ool Moosulmeen.”103

Muqdum’s testimony indicates the cooperation of at least one state appointed qazi (Islamic jurist) who was serving the Wahhabi cause, namely Qazi Yusef. His deletion of the name of Sayyid Ahmad from the original Risala Jihad indicates that he was aware of the prejudice against Wahhabism found not only within government circles but also among Indian Muslims. It appears that his action sought to mainstream anti-British sentiments among Indian Muslims and prevent them from being dismissed as the work of a fringe, “fanatical” cult.

101 102 103

Testimony of Muhammed Muqdum. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 193. From Major G. Hutton, 22nd Rgmt and Capt. D. Malcolm, Ass. Rsdt to Fraser, May 19, 1840. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 129. Testimony of Muhammed Muqdum, 194.

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Prince Mubariz ud-Daula Seducing the Troops

Prior to the Wahhabi disturbances of the 1830s, the Hyderabad Army was no stranger to mutiny, even among the better-supplied and regularly paid troops of the Subsidiary Force. In 1806, two Hyderabadi noblemen were punished for spreading disaffection among the troops at Secunderabad. At the time, the introduction of a new turban and uniform aroused suspicions of a conspiracy to convert them to Christianity.104 Six years later, troops under the command of a Major Edward Gordon mutinied by tying their commanding officer to a cannon and threatening to blow him up if they were not paid.105 These events sprang from a climate of discontentment that pervaded the Madras Army, and is traceable to the years immediately following the signing of the 1798 Treaty. Even as the better-funded Subsidiary Force was being constituted, Hyderabad’s sepoys submitted a detailed arz (petition), in which they complained about the unequal pay and living standards between themselves and English officers.106 These developments are important to note before considering which troops the Wahhabi maulvis had hoped to “turn” with their jihadist exhortations. From all indications, they directed their message primarily to Muslim sepoys. They did not limit their proselytizing to the Nizam’s troops, but preached openly to Muslims of the Subsidiary Force stationed at Secunderabad. The cavalry regiments of the Subsidiary Force consisted primarily of Muslims from established, noble families of Hyderabad.107

104

105 106

107

The event awakened fears in the Resident Thomas Sydenham that powerful nobles of Hyderabad, in this case, Raja Rao Rambha and Nur ul-Umara, had been engaged in treasonable discussions with troops at the cantonment. Hoover, Men without Hats, 159. During the same year, sepoys at Vellore mutinied against their European sentries, killing roughly 200 British troops. Many have attributed this even also to the introduction of the new turban and fears among the troops of a conspiracy to convert them to Christianity. More recently, James Hoover (now Frey) has argued convincingly that many layers of discontentment within the Madras Army led to the Vellore uprising. He draws particular attention to the collapse of a “dialogical system” of discipline in the army, in which grievances of sepoys could be voiced and a climate of “deference and reciprocal ‘protection’” was nurtured. This was replaced with one that “prevented the sepoy from pleading his case before a concerned superior.” James Hoover, Men without Hats: Discipline and Discontent in the Madras Army, 1806–1807 (New Delhi: Manohar, 2007), 39. Briggs, The Nizam: His History and Relations with the British Government, 101. Hoover, Men without Hats, 36. Sepoys were Indian soldiers employed under English authority. The word derives from the Persian and Urdu word sipahi, meaning “soldier” or “horseman.” For a study of their ethnic composition, recruitment, and role within the British Raj (post-1857 Mutiny), see David Omissi, The Sepoy and the Raj: The Indian Army, 1860–1940 (London: MacMillan, 1994). Burton, A History of the Hyderabad Contingent, 286.

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What made these preachers of jihad believe that they could escape the scrutiny of English officers of the cantonments or of Muslims who were loyal to the Company? Emerging from the testimonies of detainees is a picture of Wahhabi maulvis subverting the very spaces the Company had created for religious service providers in the cantonments. Committed to a policy of religious noninterference, the Company attempted to accommodate the religious practices of the sepoys. For its Muslim sepoys, the Company hired “regimental maulvis“ who serviced the troops in mosques often located within army stations.108 In some instances, these maulvis either became Wahhabis or developed enough sympathy for the movement to host Wahhabi preachers. An examination of the testimonies of several detainees provides insights into their strategy for priming the troops for a holy war against the British. This information is highly anecdotal, but offers a window into their organization and process of “seducing the troops,” a phrase widely used to describe their work of attracting Muslims to the Wahhabi creed. The Company expected their maulvis and Muslim sepoys to remain loyal, that is, to possess namak halal (literally, the bonds of salt) on account of the salary they drew as employees. This was in spite of very real signs of discontentment among the troops. One detainee was asked how the Wahhabi maulvis could ever imagine that troops who had for years remained faithful to the Company could be “seduced” into joining them. In response, the witness disclosed that the maulvis first made proselytes of the troops, after which time “they excited their cupidity and inculcated in them that it was the divine command to war against the infidels.”109 An important strategy for making proselytes was to declare that it was unbecoming of a Muslim to serve infidels. A witness by the name of Muhammed Suleiman, who for seven years had been a trader in the cantonment at Secunderabad, provided more details concerning the infiltration of Wahhabi maulvis into European bazaars and regiments: 108

109

“The establishment of such a class of “regimental maulvis,” writes Nile Green, “was the result of a General Order issued in March 1825, declaring that ‘a pandit and a maulvi be added from the Proximo to the Interpreter and Quarter Master Establishment at every Regiment of Native Cavalry and Infantry of the Line on an allowance of 9 Sonnaut Rupees/mensem each.’” Green, Islam and the Army in Colonial India, 87. This witness’s testimony is only partially provided in the records, and his name does not appear. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 172. For making converts among the troops, see also the testimony of Faqruddin, IOR F/4/180, File 79795, 178.

96 q: a:

q: a:

Prince Mubariz ud-Daula What masjid have you been in the habit of attending? Bakr Dada Sahib’s masjid in the European regimental bazaar of which Muhammed Abbas and Abdul Kadri were the maulvis. Also at Buddin Sahib’s masjid in the sudder bazaar of which Sayyid Ahmeed was maulvi. I occasionally went to the masjid in the Third Regiment Native Infantry Bazaar where Muhammed Abbas and Sayyid Yunus officiated as preachers. What persons chiefly attended these masjids? A considerable number of the sepoys from all the regiments as well as bazaar people. It was usual for the maulvis to read the Quran and preach on religious and moral subjects, and to address the Company’s sepoys, asking them if they were not ashamed to shave themselves and serve the infidels [and] that they should quit the service and join the holy war raging against the infidels. Any poor people who had been engaged in the holy war and came to Secunderabad were relieved by Bakr Dada Sahib, and assisted with the means of continuing their journey. This has occurred for the last two years during which [time] I have frequently heard Muhammed Abbas and Bakr Dada Sahib inculcate in their hearers the sin of serving the infidels and the advantages to be gained by joining the warriors of the faith and dying in its defense.110

Suleiman’s testimony indicates that maulvis had openly preached to sepoys of the Subsidiary Force. He also described how the maulvis accessed information from their Wahhabi networks and conveyed them to their followers. The maulvi Sayyid Yunus received a newspaper from Calcutta called Sultana ul-Akbar and routinely read portions of it to his congregation in the masjid. From the newspaper, he learned of the ongoing war in Afghanistan, specifically that the English had been defeated and that the Russians were coming to the aid of Dost Muhammad Khan. These reports, according to Suleiman, made the sepoys all the more inclined to believe it their duty “to go and fight for the faith.”111 For Wahhabis, “shaving the beard” in the service of the Company at once emasculated the Muslim sepoy and compromised his identity as a Muslim.112 A beef butcher named Muhammed Rossman learned of two or three sepoys who had been discharged from their regiments on account of their Wahhabi convictions. They belonged to the Forbes Battalion, 37th Regiment and had received assistance from Buddin Sahib (the maulvi at the Sudder Bazaar) to “join the holy war.”113 When asked to describe how exactly “it was a sin to serve the infidel,” he responded by 110 112 113

111 Testimony of Muhammed Suleiman. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 182. Ibid, 183. See also Testimony of Hyder Sahib, IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 192. Testimony of Muhammed Rossman. Dated June 26, 1839. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 185.

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citing the words of a preacher from Kabul named Syed Ahmed (not to be confused with the Balakot martyr): He stated the sin to consist in shaving the beard, to obey their orders, and to subsist on the pay of the infidels, alluding to the British Government whom the sepoys served. I have heard this language used two or three times in Buddin Sahib’s masjid, but not in the other Wahhabi mosques, which I seldom attended . . .114

That the butcher could refer to “Wahhabi mosques” indicates that there were a series of mosques within the cantonments that had either been successfully “turned” to Wahhabism or were established as such from the outset. The strategy employed by the preacher in this instance was to identify as a sin the very basis of loyalty for the Muslim soldier of the Subsidiary Force, namely his job stability and salary. Hyder Sahib, a native of Secunderabad and a doctor, provided a detailed account of his old acquaintance, Maulvi Abdul Hadi (also known as Lal Khan), an itinerant Wahhabi preacher. Over a period of one or two years, Abdul Hadi visited the sepoys of the 43rd Regiment. When it became known in the cantonment that Abdul Hadi’s father had been hanged some years ago for inciting a mutiny (context not specified) and that Abdul Hadi himself was a Wahhabi, Abdul Hadi decided to leave the cantonment and reside in the city. When the 43rd Regiment left Secunderabad and the 11th Regiment took its place, he returned to the cantonment declaring that he had abandoned Wahhabism. He was then given permission to reside in the lines of the 11th Regiment. For reasons Hyder Sahib did not provide, Abdul Hadi was once again asked to leave the cantonment. This time, he made his way to the compound (kotla) of Mubariz ud-Daula, where he again professed to be a Wahhabi and entered Mubariz’s service for a salary of thirty or forty rupees per month.115 Hyder Sahib proceeded to describe in detail the contagious religious fervor that passed between Abdul Hadi and the other maulvis who congregated at Mubariz’s palace. Among them were Maulvis Salim, Abdul Ruzzaq, Qazi Asif, Peer Muhammed, and Hafiz Syud. These men used to visit the British cantonment and preach in the mosques. “About 100 men of the 37th Regiment,” he claimed, “were converted by them.”116 The men Hyder Sahib mentioned above are among the core group of reformist maulvis residing at Mubariz’s palace. They sustained contact with reformist khalifas at Bombay, Calcutta, Tonk, and Sindh. After the death 114

Ibid.

115

Testimony of Hyder Sahib. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 190.

116

Ibid, 191.

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of Sayyid Ahmad, Tonk and Sindh became important Wahhabi strongholds. This was especially so in light of the rising ambitions of the British and the Sikhs along the Northwest Frontier. Maulvis at Hyderabad communicated by letter with Nawab Muhammed Wazir ud-Daula of Tonk, Wilayat Ali at Patna and Calcutta, Maulvi Ishmael at Shikapor, and Nasiruddin, the maulvi from Delhi who eventually established a base at Sindh.117 These maulvis had been close associates of Sayyid Ahmad during his campaign against the Sikhs. In 1837, Mubariz and Salim had sent a group of maulvis on a mission to Bombay and Sindh to gather information about developments in the Afghan region. Mubariz supplied them with money in the form of a hundi (a bill of exchange) worth 1,000 rupees.118 At Bombay, the Hyderabad maulvis gained the consent of the Bombay-based maulvis for Mubariz’s assumption of certain titles (which were engraved on the seals). Upon reaching Sindh, the envoys are said to have delivered letters to Nasiruddin.119 Upon their return to Hyderabad, they briefed Mubariz on the strength and location of the British army and the availability camels and other supplies for the mujahidin at Sindh.120 In addition to the passing of intelligence, the Hyderabad-based maulvis were also committed to the dissemination of Muhammadi literature. One witness spoke of seventy volumes of printed Persian and Hindustani books that were sent to Hyderabad from Madras. These networks built on the highly organized missionary movement that Sayyid Ahmad had put in place during the previous decade. They illustrate the workings of an “information order” that linked developments along the Northwestern Frontier with Hyderabad and other parts of the Deccan.121 Colonial officials devoted extraordinary resources to unearth these Wahhabi networks through extensive interrogation of suspects.122 Officials 117

118

119 120 121 122

This particular Nasiruddin (maulvi of Delhi) is not to be confused with the Nasiruddin who assisted Sayyid Ahmad and his mujahidin in their 1828 jihad against the Durranis and died in 1837. See Ahmed, Saiyid Ahmad Shahid: His Life and Mission, 204–05, 303. Testimony of Syed Aman Ullah, dated July 16, 1839. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 227. The deputation to Sindh is also noted in “Memorandum dated May 1, 1839,” IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 28. See also testimony of Faqr ud-Din, IOR F/4/180, File 79795, 178. James Fraser to the Secretary to the Government at Fort St. George. TNA No. 139 (Secret), March 26, 1839, 676. Testimony of Abdul Hadi dated July 10, 1839. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 218–19. C.A. Bayly, Empire and Information: Intelligence Gathering and Social Communication in India, 1780–1870 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). The cooperation between authorities at Hyderabad, Nellore, and Madras is noteworthy. In response to information drawn from Nellore detainees, T.V. Stonhouse requested information about Mubariz ud-Daula from James Fraser, the Resident at Hyderabad. To the Officiating

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at Nellore and Madras learned more about the inner circle of the movement by taking careful note of names disclosed by suspects, paying special attention to those that were repeated. The following report from T.V. Stonhouse, the Principal Collector at Nellore, illustrates how the interrogation of suspects had generated a list of accomplices: Mentioned by the Shaikh Dhumdas as Emissaries of Mubariz ud Daula: Lall Khan, Munshi Fakir Sahib. Mentioned by Imam Khan Roshun Ali, A maulvi (not named), Janoji. Mentioned by Jamal Khan Shadi Khan, Muhammed Husan Khan, Salabat Khan, Zurdar Khan Maulvi Guldad Sahib. Mentioned by Shaikh Abdulla Muhammed Sayyid Nakhoda, Badruddin, Maulvi Hyder Sahib Sayyid Ibrahim, Muhammed Sheebah, Shaikh Emau, Muhammed Bhye Amir Ali Shah.123

A recurring problem that pervades their investigation concerns the relative merits of oral versus documentary evidence. As much as officials had hoped to gain access to a paper trail that outlined the contours of the conspiracy, they had to settle for mere references to written communication. Despite the orderly manner by which officials extracted evidence from detainees and cross-referenced it with other sources, they continued to lament the absence of documentary evidence. This is apparent in the observation of D.A. Malcolm, the Assistant Resident at Hyderabad: It is much to be regretted that as yet with the exception of a printed Hindustani poem [Risala Jihad], no letters or documents connected with the proceedings of these Wahabees or of [Mubariz ud Daula] and his agents have been obtained. The poem in question is purely of a religious nature addressed to Mussalmen in general calling on them as they value their future happiness in a world to come to carry on a war of extermination with the Kafirs.124

Malcolm and Fraser hoped that the arrest of Mubariz ud-Daula would give them access to the correspondence he had maintained with khalifas

123 124

Resident at Hyderabad. TNA No. 138 (Secret), February 19, 1839, 215. See also Stonhouse’s report on the alleged intrigues of Mubariz ud-Daula and his emissaries. Sent to the Officiating Resident at Hyderabad, TNA No. 139 (Secret), March 26, 1839, 673. From the Secretary Robert Clerk to the Principal Collector and Magistrate at Nellore, March 5, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79782, 170–73. Letter from D.A. Malcolm, Assistant Resident (Hyderabad), dated May 1, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79782, 270.

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throughout India. No discovery of seditious correspondence, however, was forthcoming. Fraser pressed his case before the Nizam that Mubariz was engaged in treasonable actions against him and moreover, that he carried hostile intentions toward the Company. This was evidenced in the infiltration of his agents among the troops in order to alter their allegiance.125 To proceed with his arrest, however, required a series of negotiations that would address the politics of the moment: Fraser wanted the Nizam to be seen as the chief agent behind the arrest of Mubariz. This, he felt, would assign some agency to Muslims in confronting the evils of Wahhabism.126 The Nizam himself was reluctant to initiate any confrontation that might result in the death of his younger brother. His concern seem less tied to sibling affection than to his awareness of the growing numbers of Wahhabis in his state. The death of his brother could turn them against him.127 At the same time, he realized something had to be done to contain his “turbulent and seditious character.”128 The initial steps taken by the Nizam were geared toward avoiding any harm to Mubariz’s person (see Figure 3). He ordered that guards and sentries surround his brother’s palace. Additionally, Fraser urged the Nizam to order a search for any papers in Mubariz’s possession. He feared that any delay would give Mubariz an opportunity to destroy them: Mubariz ud Daula who has acted in this secret and thief like manner has probably burnt or destroyed these papers. This is well known that I do not spare my own life in any exertions for both Governments, especially in matters when the pleasure of the Gov. General and yours is concerned.129

The Nizam then ordered Bin Shamis, an Arab Jamadar, to arrest the maulvis residing at the palace.130 This was done in hopes of seizing any seditious correspondence in their possession. They arrested Salim, Abdul

125 126

127 128 129 130

Qeyamuddin Ahmad, The Wahabi Movement in India, 127. “It appears desirable that in a matter so interesting to Mohammedans generally, they should have an opportunity of knowing that its extermination had rested equally with the Mussalman as with the British Government”; Fraser, Memoir and Correspondence of General James Stuart Fraser of the Madras Army, 61. Qeyamuddin Ahmad, The Wahabi Movement in India, 128. To the Officiating Secretary to the Government of India with the Right Honorable the Governor General, Simlah. From D.A. Malcolm (n/d). IOR F/4/1876, File 79782, 341. Translation of a note received from His Highness the Nizam’s Minister by Major General Fraser on May 28, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79782, 299. Chronology of Modern Hyderabad. Entry dated May 27, 1839, 216.

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Figure 3 The British Residency at Hyderabad, engraving by William Miller after Capt. Grindley, published in Fisher’s Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1834.

Hadi, Syud Abbas, Qazi Asif, Ilahi Baksh (alias Afzul Ali Khan), Abdul Ruzzaq, Pir Muhammed, Muhammed Fyzullah, Munshi Fakhruddin, and Sayyid Cassim.131 Representing Mubariz’s inner circle, these men were the chief agents through which he propagated the Wahhabi message among the troops and communicated with networks throughout India. No letters, however, were discovered in their quarters. With his palace surrounded by guards, Mubariz found himself in familiar territory. “I have no papers with me,” he declared. “I have written to no one nor has anyone written to me. If you enquire this, and it is proved against me, let me be the first punished in order that it may serve as a warning to others.”132 Mubariz continued to profess his innocence, even requesting the presence of Pir Muhammed and Salim, before whom he would swear on the Qu’ran that he was telling the truth. Authorities grew impatient with what they considered “frivolous excuses.” Using a number of intermediaries, they attempted to persuade Mubariz to surrender himself voluntarily to the Golconda Fort. The standoff lasted roughly twenty days before both Fraser and the Nizam became convinced of the need for a forced arrest, but on whose 131 132

From Major G. Hutton, 22nd Regiment and Capt. D. Malcolm, Assistant Resident to Fraser, May 19, 1840. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 153–55. Translation of a Petition sent to His Highness the Nizam’s Minister by Shah Surdar Jung (n/d). IOR F/4/1876, File 79782, 293.

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orders? Chandulal was about to declare that the order for Mubariz’s arrest come from the “two Sarkars” (Fraser and the Nizam). Desiring that the Nizam be seen as the chief agent in confronting the Wahhabi threat, the Assistant Resident, D.A. Malcolm then interjected: Pardon me It is not the two Sarkars that give this order. The order now emanates exclusively from His Highness himself. I have communicated to this Sarkar whatever information I possessed but I have left it to His Highness to adopt such measures as he deems proper. The British Govern ment gives no order in the case, nor do I presume on its behalf to dictate to His Highness what ought to be done.133

Chandulal then issued the order that Mubariz himself be seized and taken as a prisoner to the Golconda Fort. As they broke down one or two gateways and entered his courtyard, Mubariz was found surrounded by his own attendants. Two or three Arab soldiers were shot and wounded before Mubariz was arrested. After the arrest of Mubariz ud-Daula and the ten other Wahhabi maulvis, the government established a Commission of Enquiry to investigate the nature and extent of the Wahhabi conspiracy. This Commission, consisting of three English officers (Malcolm, Hutton, and Armstrong) and three Muslims of the Nizam’s Durbar, conducted a “trial” at the Hyderabad Residency in which they found Mubariz and his ten cohorts guilty.134 Years after their imprisonment, a flurry of articles appeared in local English newspapers commenting on the procedural flaws of this trial and on the Commission’s failure to declare a specific charge against the maulvis.135 Over the span of nine months, the Commission scrutinized the information supplied by Muslim detainees at Nellore and Hyderabad. It relied heavily on the information that T.V. Stonhouse extracted from the Nellore detainees (especially the testimony of the Sikh named Dhumdas) and had passed along to Fraser at Hyderabad. 133 134

135

To the Officiating Secretary to the Government of India with the Right Honorable the Governor General, Simlah. From D.A. Malcolm (n/d). IOR F/4/1876, File 79782, 341–42. During the course of this trial, the Commission is reported to have asked Salim whether the Qur’an enjoins the overthrow of infidel governments. Salim responded by stating that the question could as easily be answered by the Muslim members of the Commission. Reported in The Englishman, October 31, 1848. Reprinted in Hyderabad Affairs, Volume V (1848), 87. “It is a curious feature belonging to this place that even charges against persons who have been brought to trial and sentenced to punishments are not distinctly known nor to the convicted parties the sentence awarded. At least the Wahabees profess ignorance in respect to the sentences passed upon them.” Ibid, 86. Striking a similar tone, an 1841 article in the Bombay Examiner noted that two of the English Commissioners, Hutton and Malcolm, had been involved in the initial arrests of the maulvis. Because of this, it was not appropriate that they should have been involved in their trial. Examiner, February 11, 1841 printed in Hyderabad Affairs, Volume V (1848), 4–5.

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With regard to many of the maulvis who were arrested with Mubariz, authorities noted the absence of convincing evidence of a crime. Toward the end of the Commission’s deliberations, Fraser himself conceded, “the entire absence of any free and spontaneous evidence on the part of others, [has] prevented the establishment of such clear and formal proofs of the guilt of the suspected parties as might have been desired.”136 He nevertheless commended T.V. Stonhouse for pursuing the emissaries with “sustained zeal.”137 The Commissioners had promised pardon for those who came forward and offered testimony. Hutton lamented their lack of compliance: Our endeavors were not, however, attended with the success which we were led to anticipate, as with one exception every individual to whom these offers were addressed rejected our proposals and adhered to the assertion of his total ignorance of every point of any consequence with the subject under investigation. This circumstance materially retarded our proceedings and obliged us to rely either on such information as we could collect from the documentary evidence laid before us . . .138

The documentary evidence to which Hutton refers, however, was equally lacking. In fact, the most striking aspect of the Commission’s 200-clause report is its pervasive reference to written correspondence. This included letters allegedly passed between Mubariz and Wahhabis at Bombay, Tonk, Sindh, and Bhopal. It also included letters that were carried by emissaries of foreign states who, disguised as faqirs, were inciting princes to join the anti-British confederacy. In spite of the abundance of references to such communication, the Commission collected no bundles of seditious letters. On the contrary, it relied almost exclusively on references to and descriptions of such letters by detainees. Only in one instance did the Commission appear to be quoting an actual letter. It was allegedly written by Abdul Azim in Bombay and reported on the favorable progress of the state of the mujahidin, the success of preaching and propaganda, and the rising numbers of converts. The letter refers to Mubariz as “Raisul Muslimin.”139 It contained no content that could be deemed seditious.

136 137 138 139

Major General J.L. Fraser, Resident of Hyderabad to The Secretary to the Govt of India, Fort William, dated May 28, 1840. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 99. Ibid. From Major G. Hutton and Capt. D. Malcolm, to James Fraser, May 19, 1840. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 104. Proceedings of the Commission of Enquiry. From The Freedom Movement in Hyderabad, 148.

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Conclusion This chapter has described a context in Hyderabad state during the 1820s and 1830s, which set the stage for the propagation of Muslim reformism among the troops. Under the burden to fund the Subsidiary Force from their limited treasury, the Nizams of Hyderabad accumulated huge debts. To furnish them they committed revenues from lands and borrowed extensively from creditors. The close ties that developed between the British Residents, the Hyderabad Minister (Chandulal), and troops of the Subsidiary Force ensured that the funding of these troops would remain a priority for the Nizams. As a result, masses of “irregular” troops belonging to the Nizam’s army were only occasionally paid, if at all. In addition to the disenfranchisement of these troops, Muslim sepoys themselves were showing signs of discontentment on account of their low status relative to English soldiers.140 I have argued that these developments are what created among the troops a ready audience for the propagation of jihadist messages by Mubariz ud-Daula and the maulvis working closely with him. Colonial and nationalist writers present contrasting lenses for examining details of Mubariz’s life, from his early actions against the Nizam and the Resident to his leadership in Hyderabad’s Wahhabi movement. For colonial writers, Mubariz was the troublesome and jealous younger brother of Nizam Nasir ud-Daula. His rebellious behavior manifested his personal ambitions and strained family relations. The Freedom Movement in Hyderabad does a better job of depicting the structural factors, which led to disaffection among various sections of Hyderabad state. It presents Mubariz as a freedom fighter, who shared with other rebels a common interest in opposing Company rule. Neither approach, however, captures the full implications of his involvement in the movement begun by Sayyid Ahmad. By becoming a Wahhabi, Mubariz grafted himself into the movement’s sharia-based piety and commitment to propagating those values to the Muslim masses by means of printed Urdu texts. Added to this was the movement’s vision of reestablishing dar ul-Islam in India by waging jihad against rival regimes. Toward these ends, Mubariz benefited from and added to an already existing network of maulvis, khalifas, and mujahidin

140

On account of the state’s debts, even the reformed troops of the Subsidiary Force could face interruptions in their pay. Chander, “From A Pre-Colonial Order to a Princely State,” 132.

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spanning north and south Indian regions. Many detainees described in considerable detail his role in making converts from among the Muslim troops, and exhorting them to join the holy war. A strategy he employed to persuade them to become Wahhabis was to make them feel ashamed of serving the British. Although he shared with other rebels of the Deccan an antipathy for the British, his ideology, soundly anchored in the vision passed down from Sayyid Ahmad, hardly constituted a proto-nationalist freedom struggle. Many questions remain unanswered concerning the extent of Mubariz’s preparations for a revolt and the actual communication he maintained with princes and/or foreign regimes. The relationship between the very real missionary networks established by the followers of Sayyid Ahmad and the alleged players in the Wahhabi conspiracy remained tenuous throughout the Company’s investigation. Did Mubariz manage to communicate his seditious vision with the nawabs of Bhopal, Tonk, and Sittana? Probably, since those places were connected to the networks established by Sayyid Ahmad. Did Mubariz succeed at drawing these princes, along with the nawab of Kurnool and the Jagirdar of Udayagiri, into the plan described variously by the Nellore detainees; and was all of this coordinated with invading Russian and Persian armies? This is unlikely. The material I present in the following chapters describes the thin evidence the Company had produced of any Wahhabi ties of these nawabs of the Deccan. In addition to this, it describes elements of local intrigue and falsification of evidence, which led the Company to find them guilty of sedition.

chapter 3

A Fondness for Military Display Weapons, Wahhabis, and the Conquest of Kurnool

In April 1970, a column appearing in the Indian Express newspaper eulogized the life of Ghulam Rasul Khan, the last Nawab of Kurnool (r. 1824–39). Portraying him as a “forgotten patriot of the Deccan,” the column lauded Rasul Khan’s “freedom loving spirit” and his hatred of the “very existence of the British and the pro-British elements in India.” The tribute concludes with a reference to his arrest, imprisonment, and death at the hands of one of his Arab servants: “Thus ended the life of a patriot who struggled throughout his career to break the chains of British slavery but failed like all the Indian patriots of the 17th and 18th century.”1 What exactly had this Nawab done to merit such acclaim and in what sense had he “failed”? During the 1830s, the Company officials had accused Rasul Khan of accumulating and concealing stockpiles of weapons in his Fort, vastly exceeding what the Company had allegedly stipulated in its tributary agreement with this small princely state. Officials also claimed that Rasul Khan was conspiring with Mubariz ud-Daula and his cohort of Wahhabi maulvis. Muslim detainees made occasional references to their visits to Kurnool and to Rasul Khan’s ongoing correspondence with the Hyderabad prince. As suspicions mounted, the British began sending weapons inspectors to Kurnool to assess the strength of Rasul Khan’s military arsenal. In October 1839, four months after Mubariz’s arrest, the Company issued an ultimatum to Rasul Khan, which demanded that he provide a complete account of his military or surrender his Fort. Exasperated by the Nawab’s responses, the Company army concluded a lengthy standoff by opening fire on the Rohilla, Arab, and Pathan warriors surrounding the dargah (Sufi shrine) then housing the Nawab, imprisoning the Nawab, and bringing Kurnool under the Company’s direct authority. 1

Syed Moosa Miah, “Nawab Ghulam Rasool Khan of Kurnool: Forgotten Patriot of the Deccan,” The Sunday Standard, April 26, 1970.

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Nationalist histories celebrate the lives of Ghulam Rasul Khan and Mubariz ud-Daula for their defiance of British rule. The fact that the British accused both men of rebellious activity and consigned them to life in prison has earned them reputations as freedom fighters. The problem with these representations, however, lies in their extensive reliance on the standard pronouncements of colonial publications (e.g., gazetteers, memoirs, and government reports). If an alternative reading of these and other sources were to show that these men had been innocent of their crimes and wrongfully imprisoned, it would reveal their unjust treatment at the hands of the Company, but would diminish their status as freedom fighters. The last chapter did not make a case for Mubariz’s innocence, but described how the ideology and networks of the Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah had profoundly shaped his advocacy of jihad against the British. His ambitions were not anchored in proto-nationalist aspirations for an Indian nation, but in a quest for the establishment of dar ul-Islam in India. In a similar vein, this chapter presents an alternative to the nationalist interpretation of Rasul Khan by calling into question a) the belief he had collaborated with Mubariz ud-Daula as part of the Wahhabi conspiracy, and b) that he had accumulated weapons at his Fort in order to prepare for an anti-British revolt. Caught in the crossfire of conspiratorial politics, Rasul Khan became a target of maneuvering from above and below. Well before its investigation of the Wahhabi conspiracy, the Company had developed suspicions concerning Rasul Khan stemming from the manner in which he had assumed the masnad (throne) ahead of his five older brothers. Viewing this as a breach of the conventions of Muslim regimes, the Company on two occasions deployed its army to ensure a “proper” succession. By 1838–39, fears of a Wahhabi conspiracy added fuel to these already existing suspicions. The Company moved swiftly – and with purely circumstantial evidence – to implicate Rasul Khan in the conspiracy’s treasonous designs. On the other side of these conspiratorial politics is evidence of local agents who wanted to see Rasul Khan deposed. As rumors of the conspiracy circulated in the Deccan, disaffected individuals clearly played a hand in arousing the Company’s suspicions concerning Rasul Khan’s accumulation of weapons and his alleged ties to Wahhabism. Kurnool thus provides an interesting case study for how the discourse of conspiracy could fuel, on the one hand, interventionist impulses of the colonial state while sparking, on the other, local intrigues associated with the downfall of a Muslim prince. To unpack both sides of these developments, this chapter examines a) disputes over succession that affected Company-Kurnool

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relations since the death of Alif Khan II, b) Rasul Khan’s alleged ties to Mubariz ud-Daula and Wahhabism, and c) the controversy surrounding Rasul Khan’s accumulation of weapons at his Fort and his ultimate demise. These components present a revealing commentary on the adjudication of Muslim loyalty within the framework of the liberal Empire. To be included within this framework, the Nawabs had to maintain routine and predictable practices of Muslim princely states. These included far more than the payment of an annual tribute to the Company. They entailed the observance of orderly princely succession and the proper use of titles, honors, and stately rituals in their diplomatic exchanges with the Company. The observance of these practices was essential for maintaining a stable bond between the Company and this small, tributary state. With these ties having been destabilized and with growing disaffection for his rule among his own subjects, it is no wonder that Rasul Khan would fall prey to the conspiratorial politics of the day.

Early Troubles Kurnool District is situated to the south of the Tungabhadra River and is surrounded by Bellary to its west, Anantapur and Cuddapah to its south, and Nellore to its east (see Map 1, p. 5). The district is noted for its dry climate, conducive for the production of cotton as well as the mining of minerals such as lead, brimstone, sulfur, and copper. Regional traders known as brinjarries carried such commodities – many of which were useful war materials – through roads connecting Kurnool to Bellary, Cuddapah, and other parts of the Deccan.2 The Kurnool Nawabs hail from a long line of Pathan (Indo-Afghan) rulers, who once served as subordinate chiefs of the Mughal Governor of the Deccan. Not long after the Emperor Aurangzeb took control of Kurnool in 1687, the region was conferred as a jagir (land grant) on Daud Khan, who became the first Nawab of Kurnool.3 Upon the conclusion of the Fourth Mysore War (1799), Kurnool was brought for a short time under the authority of the Nizam of Hyderabad. Shortly thereafter, the 2

3

“The Brinjarries of the Deccan are dealers in grain and salt, who move about, in numerous parties with cattle, carrying their goods to different markets, and who in the days of the Deccan wars were the great resource of the commissariat, as they followed the armies with supplies for sale.” Henry Yule, A.C. Burnell, Hobson-Jobson: A Glossary of Colloquial Anglo-Indian Words and Phrases (London: John Murray, 1903), 114. Within other contexts, they went by the names “banajara” or “lambadi.” John Walker, Charles Walker, A Gazetteer of Southern India with the Tenasserim Provinces and Singapore (Madras: Pharaoh and Co., 1855), 69.

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Nizam “ceded” Kurnool to the Company as part of the terms of the Treaty of Subsidiary Alliance, which the Nizam had signed with the Company.4 The fact that the Nawabs were both Muslim and Indo-Afghan gave them a degree of connectivity to wider networks of trade and migration (described in Chapter 1). Their ties to Hyderabad made Kurnool a stopping point for Arab mercenaries who migrated from Arabia in search of employment in the armies of the Deccan. Their status as Indo-Afghan rulers also placed them along the principal horse trade routes. Regions as far north as Rohilkhand were linked to supply lines extending southward from Tonk and Bhopal to Hyderabad, Kurnool, Cuddapah, and Mysore.5 Kurnool’s ties to these trade routes and to the movements of Muslim reformers placed it within the geographic imaginary of the Wahhabi conspiracy. Despite Kurnool’s historic ties to important centers of Islamic reform and influence, however, the Company was unable to amass any evidence that linked its rulers to Sayyid Ahmad’s reformist movement. From the earliest days of its oversight of Kurnool, the Company questioned the loyalty of the Nawab Alif Khan II (r. 1793–1815). By treaty, he was obligated to pay an annual tribute of one lakh rupees to the Company and commit 1,000 troops (500 horse, and 500 foot soldiers) to its service.6 Initially, Alif Khan appeared unwilling to comply. At one point, Edward Clive, the Governor of Madras (1798–1803), suggested that military action might be needed to enforce his payment. The Governor also noted with concern that the Nawab had “augmented the number of his troops and strengthened his Fort” without informing British authorities.7 Clive believed that while the Nawab was incapable of assembling a “useful” body of troops, he could manage to pool together enough “irregular bandits” to threaten peace within the Ceded Districts.8 The Kurnool Nawabs had 4 5 6

7 8

In 1800, the Nizam ceded Kurnool, Cuddapah, Anantapur and Bellary to the Company. J.L. Gommans, The Rise of the Indo-Afghan Empire, 1710–1780 (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1999), 101. To the Nabob of Kurnool, from George Livington, Assistant Persian Secretary to the Governor General Bentinck, October 29, 1804. Tamil Nadu Archives (TNA), Bellary District Records (hereafter, BDR), Vol. 377, 127. The Company had stationed no Resident at Kurnool. Until Kurnool came under direct EIC administration in 1840, it was the District Collector at Bellary who acted as a mediator between the Madras government and the Nawabs of Kurnool. On October 29, 1804, the Governor General Marquess Wellesley issued a formal sunnud (a deed or grant), formally defining the Nawab’s tributary obligations to the Company. In the document, the Nawab is not only designated as being a feudatory of the Company but is also declared to be immediately accountable to the Government of Madras. Wellesley to Bentinck, BDR, Vol. 377, 122–23. Letter to Major J.A. Kirkpatrick, Resident at Hyderabad from Clive, dated August 20, 1803. BDR, Vol. 377, 117. Ibid, 119.

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maintained a long tradition of employing Arab and Rohilla troops in their armies. Most likely, Clive was referring to these classes of itinerant soldiers, who sought employment in the armies of the Deccan. Such concerns about loyalty gradually subsided after 1804, but were replaced with concerns over the matter of Alif Khan’s succession. Alif Khan signaled to the Company that he favored his sixth and youngest son, Ghulam Rasul Khan over his eldest, Munawwar Khan and had intentions of designating Rasul Khan as his heir. In this connection, a series of misunderstandings arose over diplomatic gift exchange. These misunderstandings destabilized the relationship between the Company and Kurnool’s ruling family. As they corresponded with Alif Khan, Company officials learned the importance of sending the Nawab gifts on auspicious occasions observed by his family.9 Even for smaller princely states such as Kurnool, the exchange of shawls, jewels, robes of honor, turbans, and other gifts were essential features of princely authority and a vital means of nurturing a stable bond between the Company and its vassal state.10 The use of honorific titles in official correspondence also carried weighty implications. It took considerable time, however, for the Madras authorities to learn the grammar of gift exchange. After a series of exchanges involving gifts of various kinds, Company officials began to suspect that Alif Khan was manipulating them into recognizing Rasul Khan as his successor. By bringing key events of Rasul Khan’s life to the notice of the Company (for instance, his initiation into the “elements of learning” and his marriage) he elicited an exchange of gifts and official letters in which the titles of “nabob” and “bahadur” were applied to Rasul Khan.11 The Nawab had also requested permission to have a seal engraved with the name “Ghulam Rasul Khan Bahadur” and George Barlow, the Governor of Madras (1808–13) agreed.12 Two years 9

10

11 12

Evidence of this more conciliatory tone can be found in the following letters: To the Nabob of Kurnool from Livinton, Assistant Persian Secretary to the Governor General, dated October 29, 1804. BDR, Vol. 377, 124–29; and to W. Thackeray, Chief Secretary to Government of Fort St. George, November 3, 1812. BDR, Vol. 379, 82–91. For an excellent description of the political significance of gift exchange in princely India, see Stewart Gordon, Robes of Honor: Khilat in Pre-colonial and Colonial India (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2003). See also Benjamin Cohen, Kingship and Colonialism in India’s Deccan: 1850–1948 (New York: Palgrave, 2007), and Pamela Price, Kingship and Political Practice in Colonial India (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). To G. Strackey, Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George. BDR, Vol. 377, n/d, 208. Letter from G. Strackey, Chief Secretary of the Government of Fort St. George to Henry Russell, Resident at Hyderabad, dated November 12, 1813. BDR, Vol. 379, 206 and Strackey to Government, February 27, 1810, BDR, Vol. 377, 210.

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later, on the occasion of Rasul Khan’s marriage, more gifts were exchanged. Barlow sent him a robe of honor (khilat) and accompanying ornate components.13 Referring directly to the manner in which Barlow had addressed him and Rasul Khan with the titles “Nabob” and “Bahadur,” Alif Khan wrote: I confidently trust that the Nawab above mentioned will experience from you the same attention and kindness which you have been pleased to manifest towards me and that you will favor us with answers to our kareetas. I shall moreover request that in the kareetas to the Nawab Ghulam Rasul Khan Bahadur the same titles may be inserted as are used in addressing me, for the purpose of manifesting to the world that my representative is held both by the Honorable Company and by you, in the same degree of respect as myself.14

It was never entirely clear why Alif Khan favored his youngest son. One explanation has to do with the fact that Rasul Khan’s mother, Sayaada Taoos Khatun, was the only wife of Alif Khan who was a Sayyid (a person claiming pure, Arab origins and descent from the Prophet Muhammad). Favoring Rasul Khan was a way of honoring his most high-ranking wife.15 In another letter to Barlow, an ailing Alif Khan raised more directly the matter of his successor. “The days of weakening and infirmity are arrived,” he wrote, “and [the] period appointed by fate approaches.”16 He then expressed his desire to pass on his authority to Rasul Khan in the presence of a Company official. Having made his intentions clear, it was now up to the government of Madras to decide whether they could recognize Rasul Khan as his successor instead of his eldest son, Munawwar Khan. Company authorities responded with great reservation, much of which stemmed from their own notions of what Islamic succession should look like. They had erroneously presumed the law of primogeniture to be the convention observed by all Islamic regimes: 13 14 15

16

From J. Manckton, Personal Secretary to the Government to Alif Khan, Nawab of Kurnool, dated May 7, 1812. BDR, Vol. 379, 88. A kareeta refers to the ornate carrying bag, which encloses an official letter from a noble. Translation of a letter from Alif Khan to G.H. Barlow, n/d. BDR, Vol. 379, 79–80. Another explanation is that Rasul Khan himself was very ambitious and clever. He apparently had held secret meetings with each of his brothers to persuade them to support his succession. He asked each of them to promise that if the British ever were to ask who is the legitimate heir of Alif Khan, to mention his own name along with that of Ghulam Rasul Khan. By hearing the latter name repeated, the British would be convinced that he was the rightful heir. Miah, “Nawab Ghulam Rasool Khan of Kurnool: Forgotten Patriot of the Deccan,” The Sunday Standard, April 26, 1970. Translation of letter from Alif Khan to G.H. Barlow, n/d. BDR, Vol. 379, 77–79.

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This is a curious assumption, considering that succession within the Mughal Empire was often determined by violent competition between siblings for the throne.18 The Company, however, maintained that permitting Alif Khan to breach the principle of primogeniture would raise questions about his intentions. Why his youngest son and not the next in line, especially when the scope of the Nawab’s sovereignty was so clearly defined by treaty? Such a departure from convention could destabilize what was already a tenuous relationship.19 The matter, however, was ambiguous enough to prompt an inquiry on the part of the government. They requested information from the Residents of Hyderabad and Mysore about the Kurnool Nawabs, their succession practices and how Kurnool had ritualized the transfer of authority from one ruler to the next.20 In an attempt to clarify its position, the government informed Alif Khan that he had misconstrued their use of the titles “Nabob” and “Bahadur,” which are commonly applied to all sons of persons holding such rank. The terms were never intended to convey “sovereignty or

17 18

19 20

To the Nabob of Kurnool from G. Strackey, Fort St. George, November 30, 1813. BDR, Vol. 379, 321–22. See Munis Faruqui, The Princes of the Mughal Empire, 1504–1719 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). Elsewhere, officials stipulated that primogeniture was normative practice in princely states of India: “The object of his request is an innovation on the established usage of all the native states of India, and indeed of the whole world and a compliance with it is therefore a matter of some delicacy.” To W. Thackeray, Chief Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George, n/d. BDR, Vol. 379, 88. W. Thackeray to J. Monckton, February 9, 1813. BDR, Vol. 379, 121. A.K. Cole, the British resident at Mysore recounted the state of affairs during the 1790s, when Kurnool was under Mysore’s control. The Nawab at the time often paid his tribute in kind instead of cash as a way of securing a peaceful relationship. His tribute included horses, elephants, cloth, ornaments, and other gifts. Moreover, Cole distinguished gifts tied to political power from those associated with family rank or lineage. Letter from the British Resident at Mysore, A.K. Cole to G. Strackey, Esq. regarding investiture history in Mysore-Kurnool relations, dated October 15, 1813. BDR, Vol. 379, 153. Henry Russell, Hyderabad’s Resident (1811–1820), noted that the Nizam of Hyderabad (in contrast to Tipu Sultan) did in fact bestow upon Alif Khan II a sword and a shield in addition to other gifts. With regard to Alif Khan’s own successor, though, Russell recommended a different strategy. Russell advised the Madras government to send identical gifts to the eldest son and accompany them with letters addressed jointly and employing the same titles to him and his father. In so doing, the Company would recognize the eldest son, not Rasul Khan, as the presumptive heir of Kurnool. Letter from the Hyderabad resident, Henry Russell, to Strackey, Chief Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George, dated October 13, 1813. BDR, Vol. 379, 155.

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chiefship of any description.”21 With regard to Alif Khan’s successor, the British would acknowledge as heir “only whom the law of your religion would so recognize.” During unstable times, or when an “unprincipled usurper” is threatening a regime, a Nawab may prefer to designate as heir that son who would most effectively bring peace and order.22 Now that the British were ruling India, however, “a new era has succeeded, in which such extraordinary precautions are no longer necessary under [its] mild and well-regulated sovereignty. . .”23 Under the pretext of promoting continuity with local practice and neutrality, Company rule thus promoted a more bureaucratic and routine enforcement of Muslim succession. To address the matter, the Madras government sent William Chaplin, the Collector of Bellary, to Kurnool to examine the condition of the eldest son, Munawwar Khan.24 Alif Khan claimed that he lived in a state of “idiocy,” which disqualified him from ruling. Chaplin discovered that Alif Khan had placed Munawwar Khan under “rigorous confinement,” apparently for not presenting gifts (nazar) to Rasul Khan in recognition of his succession. Chaplin explained to Alif Khan that he had misconstrued the letters he had received from Madras (as legitimating Rasul Khan) and urged him to release Munawwar Khan.25 According to Chaplin’s report, Alif Khan had once attempted to kill Munawwar Khan by “mixing his pullao with poison.”26 He had also shot at him from the top of his palace.27 This report outraged authorities at Fort St. George. They sent Chaplin to Kurnool on a second trip, this time accompanied by a small force. The force reached Kurnool in December 1813, immediately released Munawwar Khan and placed him under the care of his uncle. In August 1815, the government learned of the death of Alif Khan. The Governor General told Bellary’s William Chaplin, “Munawwar Khan, the 21

22 23 24

25 26 27

Letter to the Nabob of Kurnool, from J. Stokes, Assistant, November 12, 1813. BDR, Vol. 379, 225. In 1808, Stokes was the Assistant Register for the Sadr Adalat, the Court of Appeals. In this context, he appears to have been working out of the office of the Governor of Madras. Alif Khan’s own accession to the throne appears to have been such an exception to the law of primogeniture. Ibid, 231. The Bellary collectors played a mediating role in the Company’s oversight of Kurnool. Whenever a Kurnool nawab appeared to be acting disloyally or unjustly, the Company would dispatch the Bellary Collector to investigate. William Chaplin, Dugald Cambell, F.W. Robertson, and Henry Montgomery were the collectors employed during the years of this study. Narahari Gopalakristnamah Chetty, A Manual of the Kurnool District in the Presidency of Madras (Madras: Government Press, 1886), 38. To the Chief Secretary to the Government Fort St. George. Signed A. Stuart, Fort St. George Medical Board Office, January 10, 1814. BDR, Vol. 379, 455–59. Report by George Strackey, dated September 1815. BDR, Vol. 379, 513.

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eldest son of the deceased chief, may be immediately recognized in the Ceded Districts as Nabob of Kurnool, with all possible publicity.”28 Before Munawwar could be installed, however, his younger brother, Muzuffer Khan declared himself the Nawab and amassed roughly 4,000 troops to secure the Fort. Once again, the Company responded with swift military action. On December 8, 1815 a force arrived at Kurnool and demanded Muzuffer Khan’s surrender. When he refused to admit troops to his quarters or acknowledge his allegiance to the British government, the Company declared him to be in rebellion. After a one-week standoff, the Company’s army opened fire on the troops guarding the Fort and forced them to surrender. Muzuffer Khan was imprisoned and Munawwar Khan at last was installed as the Nawab. Munawwar Khan’s reign lasted for eight years, during which time he maintained stable relations with the regime that secured his accession. With the Company’s military intervention fresh in their memory, none of the five brothers, not even Rasul Khan, made any attempt to rebel. Land grants (jagirs) that Munawwar Khan had given to Rasul Khan appear to have pacified his youngest brother.29 When in September 1823 Munawwar Khan died of illness, the Company made every attempt to ensure a smooth succession. The invasion of Pindaris into Kurnool created an interim period marked by political chaos.30 Amid these incursions, Muzuffar Khan, long released from his first imprisonment, once again made a bid (as the next in line) to be the rightful successor.31 Just as preparations were being made for his installation, however, the Company learned that Muzuffar Khan’s wife had been murdered. When all evidence pointed to Muzuffar Khan as the perpetrator, the Company once again imprisoned him at the Bellary Fort, this time for life.32 Munawwar Khan’s death and Muzuffar Khan’s imprisonment left four other brothers in contention for the masnad. The Company dismissed Daud Khan and Akber Khan, the next two sons in line, for being illegitimate sons of Alif Khan. They learned that Daud Khan’s mother 28 29 30 31 32

Strackey to William Chaplin, Collector of Bellary, August 16, 1815. BDR, Vol. 379, 627. To the Honorable the Court of Directors, June 8, 1825. IOR F/4/885, File 23059, 11. Pindaris were itinerant bands of Afghan warriors from Maratha territories, who occasionally raided villages of the Ceded Districts in search of plunder. Gopalakristnamah Chetty, Manual of the Kurnool District, 39–40. Muzuffar Khan murdered his wife because she had frequently complained about him, “stigmatiz [ing] him with the most odious crimes.” When these had begun to circulate, Muzuffar Khan feared that it could jeopardize his succession. To the Honorable Court of Directors, July 8, 1825. IOR F/4/ 885, File 23059, 25.

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had not been formally married to Alif Khan through the Nikah ceremony. A similar claim was made about the mother of Akber Khan. For reasons that are not entirely clear from colonial records, the fifth son, Ahmed Khan also had been passed over. It was only after conducting an exhaustive process of elimination that Campbell concluded that Rasul Khan was to be the next Nawab of Kurnool.33 This prehistory of Company-Kurnool relations shows how questions about the loyalty and legitimacy of the Nawabs were prevalent long before events of the Wahhabi conspiracy. The Company aspired to maintain stable relations with smaller regimes such as Kurnool with minimal intervention in their internal affairs. As with other princely states, the Company’s formula for stability was to maintain real sovereignty, while preserving the ceremonial basis of a prince’s local authority and honor. The exchange of diplomatic gifts was essential to this equation as was the practice of orderly and predictable succession. In an effort to routinize these stately functions, the Company had to deploy its army on two occasions. These earlier interventions belonged to the institutional memory of the Company as it began in the late 1830s its investigation of the Wahhabi conspiracy. They also reveal the contours of a tenuous bond. Against this history, the very suggestion that Rasul Khan was collaborating with Mubariz ud-Daula could be enough to warrant the Company’s intervention. When rumors concerning this collaboration were joined to reports that he was secretly accumulating arms and augmenting his supply of troops, Rasul Khan had little hope of surviving the scrutiny and eventual violence the Company would unleash on his regime.

Crimes of Ghulam Rasul Khan The Company charged Rasul Khan with two distinct but related crimes: (a) Collaborating with Mubariz ud-Daula and his conspiracy, and (b) Secretly amassing weapons and troops, presumably in the service of the conspiracy. Before examining the evidence for each of these allegations, it should be noted that the investigation of Rasul Khan’s ties to Wahhabism seems also to have created a fertile climate for widespread criticism of 33

To arrive at these determinations, Dugald Campbell, the Collector at Bellary, collected information about this ancient Pathan family from a host of local informers. He first interviewed surviving wives, concubines, and sisters of Alif Khan followed by surviving brothers and other relatives. He also consulted private annuls, marriage registers kept by the local qazi, horoscopes taken by Brahmin astrologers, and the records of the family genealogist. Ibid, 37.

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his reign. During the very months in which the Company was investigating the conspiracy, it encountered growing disaffection for Rasul Khan’s regime in and around Kurnool. In the absence of evidence concerning his crimes against the state, this local disaffection would ultimately play an important role in legitimating the Company’s actions against him. It was as if the Company’s investigation of the conspiracy had struck a beehive, affording free reign to any number of people who wished to bring various charges against the Nawab. At the forefront were regional merchants and traders, who claimed that he had taken their merchandise on credit without ever paying them. A group of 22 cattle merchants, for instance, claimed that Rasul Khan had taken from them bullocks worth 12,000 rupees. Instead of paying them, Rasul Khan placed them in confinement for bringing their grievance to the attention of the Company.34 In addition to his debts to merchants, Rasul Khan had to pay an expanding army consisting of Rohilla, Arab, and Pathan soldiers. Most of these soldiers had migrated from India’s Northwest Frontier to Hyderabad to enter the Deccan’s military labor market. Far from being motivated by any ethnic solidarity with the Nawab’s family, these soldiers were chiefly interested in being paid for their services. The Nawab’s failure to do so was a consistent source of grievance and provided grounds for mutiny or defection.35 Another source of disaffection came from Brahmin residents of Kurnool. In a letter to the Governor of Madras, John Elphinstone, one group of Brahmins decried Rasul Khan’s withdrawal of support for their inams.36 Whereas Kurnool’s previous Nawabs had contributed to the upkeep of inams and temples constructed on these lands, Rasul Khan had “sequestered all the inams belonging to the gods and Brahmins.”37 A separate 34

35

36 37

“Asiatic Intelligence: Madras,” Asiatic Journal and Monthly Register for British and Foreign India, China and Australasia, Vol. 30, Sept. – Dec. 1839 (London: William H. Allen & Co., 1839), 108–09. See also Letter from H. Montgomery, Acting Principal Collector at Bellary to the Secretary to the Government, Fort St. George, March 9, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79781, 6–7. This was noted by James Fraser, the Resident of Hyderabad, in the context of the possible demise of Kurnool. The soldiers in the Nawab’s service, he noted, would quickly attach themselves to nearby zamindars or to the Nizam’s army. To The Chief Secretary to the Government at Fort St. George from James Fraser, Hyderabad Residency, September 1, 1839. NAI (Secret Department), September 1, 1839, 5–6. Inams were tax-free holdings, which were assigned for a variety of reasons, including religious institutions such as temples or maths. Translation. To Lord Elphinstone, Governor of Madras. Petition of Rajavali Kedambi Achen Kundalu Rangacharulu of Chagala Murri in the territories of Kurnool, and eleven other Brahmins. Extract Fort St. George Secret Consultation of May 21, 1839. IOR F/4/1879, File 79792, 31–32. Brahmins had also claimed the right to collect a pilgrim tax at a holy site on Paravuttam Hill in Kurnool, which Rasul Khan refused to recognize. Moreover, he objected to

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petition from another group of Brahmins charged Rasul Khan with “greatly oppressing” them by extracting revenue from their inam lands and using the money to purchase arms. They also accused Rasul Khan of the vilest forms of extortion. When Brahmins did not satisfy his demands for revenues from their inam lands, Rasul Khan, they claimed, seized their women and abused them.38 This would not be the only occasion when someone would bring Rasul Khan’s mistreatment of women to the attention of the Company. For reasons not entirely clear, Rasul Khan had imprisoned one of his brothers, Ahmed Khan, along with his family. In May 1839, a maidservant of Ahmed Khan had accused the Nawab of having committed a heinous crime against Ahmed Khan’s wife. Rasul Khan, she claimed, had broken in to his brother’s house with the intention of seizing his wife - described as “a most beautiful creature” - and bringing her back to his palace. In protest, the wife cut herself with a dagger and began to bleed profusely. This alarmed the Nawab, and inclined him to leave immediately.39 The maidservant also described the abject conditions in which Rasul Khan had held his brother in captivity.40 Authorities viewed it as no coincidence that this growing disaffection coincided with reports about his “warlike preparations” and affiliation with Mubariz ud-Daula.41 At least for a time, they were led to believe that Rasul Khan’s local enemies were manufacturing rumors that could lead the Company to oust him from power.42 These enemies could have included members of his own family who did not approve of his accession to the masnad, a range of unpaid traders, merchants or soldiers, or

38 39 40

41 42

the government’s right to interfere in these internal religious affairs of his state. Letter from Montgomery to Secretary of Government, Fort St. George, June 27, 1839. IOR F/4/1879, File 79792, 65. Extract Fort St. George Secret Consultation of July 2, 1839. Translation. To Lord Elphinstone, Governor at Madras. IOR F/4/1879, File 79792, 42. Extract of Fort St. George Consultation, May 21, 1839. IOR F/4/1879, File 79792, 13. “He has forcibly caught hold of hundreds of young females aged ten or eleven years, and ravished them and killed them and there are at present more than 300 females in confinement. . . . he causes the females to be dressed in long drawers and puts bloodsuckers in them and one of the females not being able to endure the annoyance which she suffered from the animal having got into her private parts destroyed herself at Bettumchula by setting fire to her house.” Extract Fort St. George Secret Consultation of July 2, 1839. Translation. To Lord Elphinstone, Governor at Madras. IOR F/4/ 1879, File 79792, 42. F/4/1879, File 79792, 13. Within other contexts, bloodsuckers or leeches were used to cause bleeding during intercourse, creating the impression that a woman was a virgin. One of the petitions of the Brahmins described arms shipments to Kurnool via Cuddapah, another Ceded District ruled by a Pathan family. IOR F/4/1879, File 79792, 38–39. A March report printed in the Madras Gazette stated that in light of this general disaffection, “there seems no reason for attributing hostile intentions to our old friend, Ghoolam Rasaul Khan.” Printed in Asiatic Journal and Monthly Register, Vol. 29, May-August 1839, 273.

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disenfranchised Brahmins. Any of these factions could have been responsible for spreading rumors that implicated Rasul Khan in the conspiracy. From March to October 1839, however, the posture of the Company shifted from measured skepticism to fervent conviction about Rasul Khan’s ties to Mubariz and the conspiracy. The oral testimonies of several of the Nellore and Hyderabad detainees played a role in reinforcing this connection. As men from whom the Company had gained most of its information, their very mention of Kurnool contributed to Rasul Khan’s guilt by association. Some had visited Kurnool in search a Muslim patron who could assist them financially (as discussed in Chapter 1). Muhammad Abdullah, for instance, had passed through Kurnool and Udayagiri en route to Madras. “I heard the Kurnool Nawab was a very liberal man,” he explained. He hoped to receive gifts from Rasul Khan and Udayagiri’s Abbas Ali Khan to relieve his debts.43 Imam Khan, another Nellore detainee, had served the Nawab of Bhopal. He too passed through Kurnool during his travels, though did not specify the reason.44 Shaikh Abdul Ruzzaq similarly described a series of attempts to solicit funds from prominent Muslims: “I got nothing in Hyderabad,” he said, “so went to Kurnool. I got nothing there, so came to the Udayagiri Jagirdar.”45 What distinguished Ruzzaq from the other detainees was the letter he carried bearing the seal of the Sharif of Mecca and addressed to the Nawab of Kurnool. Ruzzaq eventually admitted, however, that he had forged the letter. Two other detainees provided details that more directly implicated Rasul Khan in the operations of the conspiracy, namely Rahamatullah, the only detainee to describe Kurnool’s specific role in Mubariz’s military campaign, and Haji Ishmael, who alluded to letters passing between Rasul Khan and Maulvi Salim, Mubariz’s close advisor.46 With regard to Rasul Khan’s ties to Wahhabism, the evidence is similarly scant. The government had obtained a letter from a maulvi named Shujahuddin Hussein addressed to Rasul Khan attempting to dissuade him from engaging in jihad. The maulvi argued that the jihad being discussed at the time is “not that prescribed as an essential 43 44 45 46

Deposition of Muhammad Abdullah, Native of Arabia, February 19, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 54. From the Principal Magistrate of Nellore, to H. Clark, Secretary to the Government. February 19, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 222–24. Deposition of Shaikh Abdul Ruzzaq, February 19, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 58. Translation of a Deposition [of Haji Ishmael] given before Major General Fraser, Resident at Hyderabad on the eleventh day of June 1839. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 63.

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duty in the Qu’ran.”47 Hussein portrayed the Company in a positive light, on account of its role in crushing the Pindaris, itinerant bands of Afghan warriors who allegedly treated Muslims of the Deccan poorly.48 He also noted the futility of attempting to remove the British from power: [N]ow no obstruction to the Muslim faith comes from these Christians nor has any one sufficient power to remove them from this country and to contend with them would only bring the Muslim faith into contempt and end in the destruction of the Mussalmen. Those in Hindustan who went to wage a holy war against the Sikhs only brought death upon thousands of learned and pious persons.49

Officials provided no details about Shujahuddin Hussein or the context of his letter. It is unclear whether the maulvi raised these matters with Rasul Khan because of his unique role in a planned jihad or as a preemptive measure, based on rumors being circulated among Muslims of an antiBritish uprising. In the end, officials seemed inclined to view the letter as evidence of his true motives behind his arms accumulations. Two faqirs interviewed by the Company, Shah Jamal and Shah Kamal, also rendered testimony concerning Rasul Khan’s Wahhabi leanings. The Company, however, disregarded their claims not only because of their failure to provide supporting evidence but also because their allegations appear to have sprang from their anger toward the Nawab. Rasul Khan had “greatly incensed” them by ceasing to provide allowances for faqirs and discontinuing support of the festival of Muharrum in Kurnool.50 Most of the evidence produced by the Company’s investigation of Rasul Khan failed to meet any reasonable standard of proof establishing his involvement in the Wahhabi conspiracy. Unlike the substantial evidence that established Mubariz’s role in inspiring jihad among the Muslim troops at Secunderabad, evidence concerning Rasul Khan’s involvement was thin at best. What the Company was looking for was documentary evidence in the form of letters, which had allegedly passed between Rasul Khan and Mubariz ud-Daula (or foreign powers), which clearly disclosed his intentions. 47 48

49

To the Chief Secretary, n/d. IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 139. Translation of a letter bearing the Hyderabad postmark and directed to Ghulam Rasul Khan Bahadur, Nawab of Kurnool, from Shujahuddin Hussein, date uncertain. IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 223–24. 50 Ibid. To the Chief Secretary Fort St. George, IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 140.

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The Smoking Gun In August 1839, James Fraser, newly appointed as British Resident at Hyderabad, was convinced he had found such a letter. In fact, this would be the only letter the government would locate, which linked Rasul Khan to Mubariz ud-Daula and his campaign. Fraser told the story of an elderly woman who had traveled from Kurnool to Mustaidpura, a suburb of Hyderabad, carrying a letter from Rasul Khan to Mubariz ud-Daula. The woman had arrived from Kurnool “having the appearance of a religious beggar” and wearing a ta’wiz (amulet) around her left arm. Because the ta’wiz bore the name of God, it could not, in her mind, be defiled. Weakened by her extreme illness she asked in a low, broken voice to be attended to by a pirzada, or a local Sufi cleric. Making “a faint sign with her head to her left arm,” she asked the cleric to remove the ta’wiz and cast it into a well. After her death, however, the cleric took the ta’wiz to the home of three cousins (who were brothers) of the Nawab of Kurnool who lived nearby. These brothers, according to Fraser, had fled from Kurnool to escape the “tyranny” of the Nawab and had since lived as pensioners of the Hyderabad Minister, Chandulal, known for his loyalty to the Company.51 One of the cousins opened the copper case of the ta’wiz and discovered inside the letter in question. The brothers were fearful of either destroying or discussing the letter. If the Nawab were to discover their deeds, he might harm the youngest of the three, whose family remained in Kurnool. They decided to hide the letter and say nothing about it. A female servant of theirs, though, had overheard their conversations and reported the story of the ta’wiz to Mahdi Ali (who was also designated as a Pirzada), a neighbor of the Resident of Hyderabad.52 After Mahdi Ali conveyed the account to Fraser, Fraser summoned the brothers to the Residency to report all that they knew (see Figure 3, p. 101). Their names were Sayyid Zufar Ali Khan, Sayyid Ali Khan Bahadur, and Sayyid Shah Ali Khan Bahadur. It was Sayyid Shah Ali Khan’s family who had remained in

51 52

To the Chief Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George, from James Fraser, Resident at Hyderabad. NAI Foreign Department (Secret), November 13, 1839. No. 103, 3–8. Fraser’s account referred to the man as a pirzada, while the cousins referred to him as a Mashaikh. The word mashaikh in Arabic is the plural of shaikh, although it can honorifically be applied to a single respected man. Within some contexts, a pirzada refers to an official gatekeeper of a Sufi shrine. See Ja’Far Sharif, Islam in India or the Qanum-I-Islam: The Customs of the Musalmans of India, G.A. Herklots (translator)(London: Oxford University Press, 1921), 9.

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Kurnool. He requested that the British would take measures to protect his family should they take Kurnool.53 According to Fraser, the elderly woman was a “procuress in the nabob’s pay, and . . . had in former occasions come to Hyderabad for the purpose of purchasing women for his zenana.”54 The letter contained in her amulet was from Rasul Khan to Mubariz, essentially declaring his own readiness for war. The signature, according to Fraser, probably belonged to Rasul Khan’s deceased father, Alif Khan, “whose signature he uses in his private correspondence.”55 Fraser went to great lengths to have the letter translated. After having shared it with several people who “pretended not at all to understand its purport,” he finally was able to obtain a “tolerably correct” translation. Even this was riddled with ambiguous transliterations of Persian phrases, rendered by Fraser’s translator (his parentheses): Your supplicant is prepared with arms and materials for war and is ready. His troops and treasure will be collected in a short time, because many of their (*probably the Company’s) villages are rich (or thriving, abundant) . . . and very near my frontier. Having understood (or satisfied yourself “kusuw wur formooda”) that most of the dependents (*meaning probably the sepoys) of the infidels have adopted the established religion of the ruler of the Faithful (Raes ul Mussulmeen) it will be highly proper for you at all events to come out before the appointed time. Do not delay, for the enem [ies] are waiting. As a measure of precaution the inferior old woman, who is perfectly trustworthy, has been dispatched with this note . . .56

What can we glean from Fraser’s account of the ta’wiz, beyond perhaps his penchant for exotic anecdotes? The intercepted letter from Rasul Khan provided the Company with only a small piece of evidence concerning his allegedly seditious plans and his links to Wahhabism. And yet, the Company leaned heavily on this small scrap of paper. It was only after Mubariz ud-Daula’s June arrest that Fraser, with the cooperation of the Nizam and his minister Chandulal, assembled a Commission of Enquiry to investigate the nature and extent of Hyderabad’s Wahhabi conspiracy. The Commission convened from June 1839 to March 1840, reaching its conclusions roughly three months after the siege of Kurnool. Fraser was keen that the Commission be comprised of both British and Muslim members. The Commission was not simply devoted to 53 54 56

James Fraser, Resident at Hyderabad to the Chief Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George. NAI Foreign Department (Secret), November 13, 1839. No. 103, 3–8. 55 Ibid, 8. Ibid, 4. Translation of Nawab’s letter. Dated May 10, 1839. This letter is included in Fraser’s letter to the Government. Ibid.

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a criminal investigation, but also to a wider public relations project targeting Hyderabad’s Muslims. Fraser wanted the Company’s Raj to be viewed as religiously neutral, not anti-Muslim. He also sought to convey distinctions between orthodox Islam and Wahhabism and between those who were and were not loyal to the British: Points of a religious nature, especially as connected with the distinction that now prevails between the orthodox Mohammedan religion and the reformed or Wahabee faith, will necessarily be brought to the notice of the Committee; and in this respect it will be attended with obvious advantage that the Mohammedans of this country generally, who hear of these proceedings, should know that they have been submitted to persons of their own tribe and creed, conjointly with British officers, and not to the latter exclusively.57

Fraser tried to project a bond of shared interests between the Nizam and the British as well as between the British and their Muslim subjects.58 Clearly, Wahhabism violated any such bonds. During its 1840 consultations, the Commission investigated each and every link of Fraser’s story, especially because it provided the only piece of written evidence concerning Rasul Khan’s ties to Mubariz. Under interrogation, two of the cousins, Sayyid Ali Khan and Sayyid Shah Ali Khan, provided details that confirmed some of what Fraser had mentioned, while deviating from his account in other ways. The cousins, for instance, made no mention of Mahdi Ali, who, in Fraser’s account, had received the letter from the cousins and had taken it to Fraser.59 Several witnesses provided conflicting accounts concerning the identity of the elderly woman. The cousins stated that they knew nothing about the woman other than the fact that she came from Kurnool and was named Husseini. Others claimed that Rasul Khan had sent a woman named Husseini periodically to Hyderabad to “purchase women.”60 One claimed that the Nawab “was in the habit of speaking to Husseini Mah behind the Purdah. I used to learn the fact after she had brought back girls.

57 58

59 60

Fraser to Elphinstone, Governor of Madras. In Hastings Fraser, Memoir and Correspondence of General James Stuart Fraser of the Madras Army (London: Whiting and Co., 1885), 62. The British also wanted to maintain the façade that the Nizam himself was leading the arrest and investigation of his brother. This, they hoped, would convey a stance of religious neutrality and would prevent Hyderabad’s Muslims from believing that the British were against them. Sarojini Regani, Nizam-British Relations, 1724–1857 (Hyderabad: Booklovers Private Ltd., 1963), 253–62. Translation of a Deposition given before T.L. Blane, Commissioner at Kurnool, by Sayyid Ali Khan Bahadur and Sayyid Shah Ali Khan Bahadur, February 5, 1840. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 521–22. Deposition of Sayyid Ali Khan Bahadur and Sayyid Shah Ali Khan Bahadur, 525.

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She on one occasion brought a Begum and a girl.”61 Such reports had clearly informed Fraser’s original narrative and resonated with complaints about Rasul Khan’s acquisition and mistreatment of women. What significantly undermined the testimony of the three cousins, however, was input from other witnesses that the Husseini who purchased women on behalf of the Nawab had died ten years ago and that her corpse was buried near the tomb of her pir (Sufi holy man). When the Commissioner explained to the cousins that he came to learn of “two Husseini’s,” the cousins were unable to provide any clarification. Even when the Commissioner assumed the existence of the Husseini mentioned by the cousins, he found inconsistencies in their account of when she had arrived in Mustaidpura and the dating of the letter she had carried in the ta’wiz. He also questioned how a woman so old and infirm could be entrusted with such an important letter.62 Having discredited the account of the cousins relative to the identity and movements of Husseini, the Commission turned to the matter of the letter itself, its seal, and the ta’wiz that enclosed it. The Commission confirmed Fraser’s claim (and that of the cousins) that the seal on the letter (which read “Allah al-Nasir”) was that of Alif Khan, the late father of Rasul Khan. Why, however, would Ghulam Rasul Khan continue to use the seal of his father to sign letters when he had obtained a seal of his own? Somehow, the Commission was able to obtain from Kurnool the seal in question from a seal maker named Mubarik Kartoum. The Commission then consulted three experts to determine the seal’s authenticity. They conducted a number of tests, including an examination of the impressions the seal made on paper. Observing how these impressions rapidly disappeared, the experts concluded that the seal was not authentic and that the letter most likely had been forged. The Commission also hired coppersmiths to inspect the ta’wiz, which had allegedly been worn by Husseini for many days. The coppersmiths observed, It was an old one lately heated in fire, and that it could not have been worn for any time after that operation was performed on it, as it did not prevent any marks of being rubbed and had not lost its color from contact with the perspiration of the body.63 61 62 63

Translation of a deposition given before T.L. Blane, Commissioner at Kurnool, by Ruhman Mah, February 5, 1840. IOR F/4/1880, File 79795, 527. Report of Major G. Hutton, 22nd Regiment and Captain Malcolm, Assistant Resident to James Fraser, May 19, 1840. F/4/1880, File 79795, 133. Ibid, 133–35.

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Afterward, they tested the ta’wiz by tying it to the arm of a local volunteer and removing it after three days. Noting the considerable change of color, they concluded that no one had previously worn the ta’wiz. The timeline of the letter itself, Fraser’s account of it, the attack on Kurnool, and the final report of the Commission concerning the letter’s contents is as follows: May 10, 1839: June 15, 1839: August 25, 1839: September 14, 1839: October 18, 1839: February 5, 1840: May 19, 1840:

Date of letter found in ta’wiz Arrest of Mubariz ud-Daula Fraser’s report concerning Husseini and the letter Arrival of weapons inspectors Attack on Kurnool Fort and Arrest of Ghulam Rasul Khan Depositions of the Cousins of Rasul Khan Commission’s analysis

What the timeline reveals is that the Company had ultimately attacked the Kurnool Fort under false information, that is, long before Fraser’s account could be subject to any scrutiny. Only after Rasul Khan’s imprisonment did the Company realize that the letter was forged and the entire account a fabrication.64 The Commission also noted Mahdi Ali’s hand in the matter. According to the Commission’s report, he along with the cousins had pressured Haji Ishmael to mention in his deposition that letters had passed between Rasul Khan and Mubariz.65 Fraser had once described Mahdi Ali as a man of “low intriguing character, trying to make himself intimate at the Residency and with English society of the place.”66 If Fraser’s assessment is correct, Mahdi Ali either held some personal stake in seeing Rasul Khan deposed, or was attempting to further ingratiate himself to the Residency by presenting the letter to Fraser. On account of these findings, the Commission drew this carefully worded conclusion: that the Nawab of Kurnool possessed arms and ammunitions. There is no doubt that the witnesses had given statements of cooperation between the 64

65 66

Questions concerning the seal’s authenticity were in fact raised prior to the conquest of Kurnool. The cousins insisted that the seal was authentic and the letter therefore is authentic. Clearly, they convinced the Hyderabad Resident, James Fraser of this. James Fraser to Government of Fort St. George. TNA Vol. 151 (Secret), Consultations of October 22, to November 19, 4843. Report of Commission of Enquiry, Section 114. In Freedom Struggle in Hyderabad, 152. Extract Fort St. George Secret Consultation of May 14 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79782, 35–36.

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Nawab of Kurnool and Mubaraz ud Dowlah, but all of them are without written proofs.67

The Commission was convinced that Mubariz ud-Daula was in communication with other princes and zamindars (landlords) with seditious designs, but was far more cautious in grouping Rasul Khan with them. The remarks of two of the Commissioners, Captains George Hutton and Duncan Malcolm, who had been involved in the investigation of Kurnool and Hyderabad all along, drew a much stronger conclusion. They claimed that a conspiracy against Rasul Khan, not any involvement of his in the Wahhabi conspiracy, is what explains the content of the letter: [W]e have come to the conclusion, that the document in question is the result of a conspiracy, in which the three Kurnool brothers, the Pirzada, and Mahdi Ali Khan, are all more or less implicated and which has been conducted with such skill and cunning that it would probably have escaped detection were it not for the researches of the Commissioners of Kurnool having brought to light the existence of the original seal in the possession of Moobarik Katoon, and our subsequent enquiries proved that the old woman had been seen in [Mustaidpura] some time previously to the period assigned by the brothers as that of her arrival at [Hyderabad].68

Somehow, these conclusions of Hutton and Malcolm did not alter the standard, official pronouncements that worked their way into government gazetteers, manuals and other publications. This official position tended to downplay Rasul Khan’s Wahhabi ties, but nevertheless interpreted his accumulation of weapons as warranting suspicions about his rebellious intentions.69 At least one publication, however, presented an alternative interpretation of what Rasul Khan was intending through his amassing of weapons: Subsequent events tended to show that there was no real intention on the part of the Nawab to place himself in a warlike opposition to the British Government. He was a man of violent and ill regulated passions and had conceived a fancy for making military display; a fancy, which was encour aged by his minister, Namdar Khan, who obtained from his own relatives very profitable contracts to supply gunpowder, lead, and other stores. . . . The Nawab’s family and adherents and the townspeople were all together at 67 69

68 Report of Commission of Enquiry, 152. Report of Hutton, 136. See, for instance, Gopalakristnamah Chetty, Manual of the Kurnool District in the Presidency of Madras, 38–41; and W.W. Hunter, Imperial Gazetteer of India, Vol. XVI (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1908), 39.

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When coupled with Hutton’s conclusions, this report reveals two important aspects of the Company’s dealings with Rasul Khan: First, that there was no consensus among Company officials concerning Rasul Khan’s capacity or motives for rebellion. Second, that public knowledge of the events associated with the conquest of Kurnool similarly lacked consensus. A closer examination of the events concerning his arms buildup reveals the cloud of misunderstanding and apprehension that marked the Company’s proceedings.

Whimsical Passions The Company had investigated the size of Rasul Khan’s military arsenal long before they had implicated him in the Wahhabi conspiracy. In August 1834, the Collector of Cuddapah (a neighboring Ceded District) intercepted a shipment of 428 muskets, which he discovered to be intended for the Nawab of Kurnool. They were packed in eighteen chests and were accompanied by a false rowanah (official label authorizing and describing the shipment). The rowanah identified the chests as containing European and Chinese sundries valued at 600 rupees and destined for a businessman in Bellary.71 According to a local informant, ten bullocks containing nearly 1,000 muskets had at separate periods been shipped in a similar manner to Kurnool. At times, these shipments consisted of “broken up” and discarded arms that were “refitted or repaired so as to be rendered serviceable.”72 Both the quantity and the secrecy with which the materials were conveyed prompted the Company to investigate the state of arms, ammunition, and troops being kept at Kurnool and at other nearby provincial forts. The Company’s investigation of the Kurnool Fort in 1835, however, revealed no evidence of an arms buildup. On the contrary, inspectors found that troops in Kurnool “have never been in a less efficient state that at the present moment.” Rasul Khan had recently reduced the pay of all ranks of his army, which had prompted several mutinies. The size of his 70 71

72

Walker, President’s Room: A Gazetteer of Southern India with the Tenasserim Provinces and Singapore 71. M. Canning to The President and Members of the Board of Revenue, from Principal Collector’s Office at Cuddapah, August 25, 1834. NAI Ootacamund (Secret Dept.) ‘A’ Consultation of Sepember 9, 1834, No. 1–5, 13–15. H. Chamier, to the President and members of the Military Board, August 30, 1834. NAI Ibid, 6–7.

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military establishment, moreover, was found to be “much smaller than [that] maintained by any of his predecessors.”73 After an exhaustive examination of evidence, the Military Board drew conclusions that resembled that of Hutton (above) five years later: It found that there existed “a party at the Presidency engaged in circulating reports and making representations to the Government with a view to bring the character and conduct of the Nawab into disrepute and himself into disfavor with the Government.”74 The Board concluded that there was no basis on which to question the Nawab’s fidelity to the Company. The Company’s 1839 campaign against Kurnool, however, signalled its shift to a far more grave assessment of the threat posed by Rasul Khan. Fears of a Wahhabi conspiracy, when coupled with rumors of his “warlike” preparations, demanded decisive action. The Company planned a massive military operation, which they timed to coincide with the arrival on September 14 of two weapons inspectors, Thomas Law Blane and Lieutenant Colonel Scudamore Steele. The Company sent these men – who formed part of an official “Kurnool Commission”– several weeks ahead of the army to examine the size and strength of Rasul Khan’s arsenal. If the inspectors were to experience Rasul Khan or his guards as non-compliant or if they had discovered an unwarranted amount of weapons on his premises, the Company army would convey a clear ultimatum to the Nawab: Comply with the search or face imprisonment and the forfeiture of your regime.75 Early on, the inspectors appear to have reported that a military advance on Kurnool would be unnecessary on account of the Nawab’s cooperation.76 The Nawab had requested his brother, Khadir Khan and his Diwan (Prime Minister), Namdar Khan to guide the inspectors to various places within the Fort where he stored his weapons. The inspectors claimed to have been received with “great civility” by these men. They noted the storage of canon, guns, and other war materials kept in the Fort, and checked their quantities against inventories provided in earlier inspections.77 73

74 75 76 77

To the Chief Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George, from F.W. Robertson, Principal Collector of Anantapoor; March 31, 1835. In No. 13: Extract from the Minutes of Consultation under date May 1, 1835. NAI Foreign Department (Political). Consultation May 25, 1835, No. 3, 3–6. Ibid, p. 8. To the Nawab of Kurnool, Ghulam Rasul Khan Bahadur, Nabob of Kurnool, 351–53. IOR F/4/ 1879, File 79792. Major J.T. Pears, Madras Engineer, Journal of an expedition to attack and capture Kurnool in August-December 1839. IOR MSS Eur B368, 31. Letter to Ghulam Rasul Khan Nawab from Steele and Blane, Commissioners, October 4, 1839. IOR F/4/1879, File 79792, 354.

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The initial experience of compliance, however, was soon to take a turn for the worse. The inspectors developed suspicions that these escorts had shown them only a small portion of Rasul Khan’s arsenal.78 They insisted that Rasul Khan allow them to search the Fort wherever they pleased. As they proceeded to do so, they discovered massive quantities of gunpowder, mortar, pistols, and other materials, hidden in the Fort’s zenana quarters (which housed the Nawab’s harem). This alarmed the inspectors enough to insist – now with the backing of the Company army – that Rasul Khan surrender his Fort.79 The Nawab and his family vacated the Fort without resistance and relocated to a dargah (shrine) located a mile away, in the village of Zorapur. Records of the events that followed reveal important details about the Nawab himself and his relations with the Arab and Rohilla warriors who guarded him. Colonial sources portray Rasul Khan as someone ruled by an erratic temperament and uncontrolled passions. His idiosyncrasies, not his ideology or any rational self-interest, are what guided his behavior. Rasul Khan’s Arab and Rohilla personal guards emerge as autonomous mercenaries who were fundamentally guided by financial considerations, not any ethnic bond to their Pathan Nawab. This profile of the Nawab and his guards diminishes any sense that he had joined out of conviction the Wahhabi conspiracy or was ideologically opposed to British rule. And yet, it was this profile of an indulgent, irrational prince, which most informed the Company’s decision to seize the Fort and annex Kurnool. J.T. Pears, the Commanding Engineer of the Company’s Kurnool expedition, provides in his 1839 journal a revealing firsthand account of the Company army’s confrontation with Rasul Khan. His entries describe a six-week military operation involving as many as 6,000 soldiers. These belonged to native and European detachments sent from Bellary, Hyderabad, Bangalore, and Adoni.80 As they made their way to Kurnool through towns along the shores of the Tungabhadra River, soldiers were constantly plagued with cholera, scorpion bites, and ailments arising from oscillating waves of heat and monsoon rains. Their mission, in his view, 78 79 80

“Afterward, there remained concerns that there are still a great number of guns, and a large quantity of gunpowder that, and other stores, which were not exhibited to the Officers sent by us.” Ibid. To the Nawab of Kurnool, Ghulam Rasul Khan Bahadur, Nabob of Kurnool. IOR F/4/1879, File 79792, 351–53. The force included, but was not limited to the 13th Squadron Light Dragoons, 7th Squadron Light Cavalry, Six Pounders Horse Artillery, Five and a Half in Howitzers/Foot Artillery, and the Company’s H.M. 39th Foot and the 34th Regiment Light Infantry under the command of Lieutenant Colonel Dyce. To the Chief Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George. NAI Foreign Department (Secret), No. 7/16, December 4, 1839, 13.

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was to dislodge a troublesome Afghan prince, whose regime lay curiously situated in the middle of India, surrounded by Hindus, and propped up by foreign mercenaries: The Nabob, though one of the small fry, has been almost independent since the days of Aurangzeb; and is a descendant of a Pathan or Afghan noble who served that prince. There have consequently been always a nest of these bold, reckless Pathans, not only at Kurnool but in its neighborhoods. In these later days, when we seemed to be in trouble, all of our neighbors looking up; and this vagabond (whom we set on the throne 25 years ago) has been intriguing with others in that part of the world, princes and nobles, great and small; and I fancy there is little doubt of a combination having been in a certain degree formed across the country from Satara and Hyderabad. This Nabob of Kurnool has been filling his place with arms and fighting men, Arabs, Afghans, and even Turks! And now we are going to smash him.81

Pears described Rasul Khan as a prince who had used his high degree of autonomy from British oversight to mismanage his regime and indulge his own obsessions. Kurnool, he contended, was a central element of the conspiracy not only because of its location but also because it lacked the immediate oversight of a British Resident. As the above passage indicates, intelligence concerning Rasul Khan’s involvement in a wider conspiracy profoundly shaped Pears’ sense of mission. This intelligence helps explain the amount of force the Company deemed necessary to confront the supposedly volatile prince. The Company army treated reports of Rasul Khan’s military accumulation seriously enough to enter Kurnool with an overwhelming display of force, detailed by Pears in the same swashbuckling tone: The quantity of stores and number of rounds of ammunition is quite enormous. The supply came from two different arsenals. I have with me a list of the supply from one only, Bellary, and among an extraordinary variety of stores I read . . . 18th view shot 3200, 12th shot 3200; 5 ½ inch shells, 2600; 740 barrels of powder; 240,000 rounds of musket ammuni tion; 13,650 [rounds of] rifle [ammunition], 25,000 pistol; 9800 fusil; so that I conclude if all the hair on all the heads of all the men, women and children in Kurnool were entitled to a shot each, we could oblige them.82

The size of the Company’s arsenal, Pears noted, suggested it had envisioned a more extensive campaign; but he knew of no plans to advance the troops beyond Kurnool. 81

Journal of J.T. Pears, 5.

82

Ibid, 18.

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The findings of the inspectors reinforced the Company’s view of Rasul Khan as a prince who was fundamentally guided by whimsical passions – namely, for women, cock fighting, and weapons. With the assistance of the army, the inspectors scoured the Fort for hidden arms. As they began to unearth masses of military stores, they also discovered on the premises “some thousand fighting cocks,” some of the finest, in fact, that Pears had ever seen. The escorts, Namdar Khan and Khadir Khan, had initially steered Blane and Steele away from the zenana to ensure the privacy of the women. Later, the inspectors observed several Company soldiers knocking a hole through a wall of the zenana. Unexpectedly, they encountered several frightened elderly women, who, according to Pears, “declared the world was turned upside down when men dared to break into a zenana full of ladies.”83 Colonel Steele comforted the women by assuring them that “the British officers were all the ladies could wish, gentle and polite,” after which, he reported, the women retired to their quarters. Upon completing their examination, the inspectors concluded that Rasul Khan had converted the gardens, zenana’s quarters and precincts of his Fort into “one vast arsenal.”84 The inspectors urged the government to consider “strong measures” that could involve “the entire and absolute resumption of the jagir of Kurnool” by the Company.85 An official account of the weapons found in Rasul Khan’s Fort was supplied by Edward Armstrong, who headed the Madras 34th Light Infantry. He described a wide variety of weapons and other war materials found in the Fort: The gardens of his palace and zenana are covered with foundries for casting guns, shot and shells, and pieces of ordnance are to be found in every stage of preparation. Two of the mortars, beautiful brass pieces, are probably the largest in the world . . . The various buildings in the palace and zenana are turned into vast magazines of every imaginable weapon, from guns of the heaviest caliber to double barreled pocket pistols. In one shed, which had the entrance bricked up to appear a dead wall, we found forty five brass guns, from two to six pounders, mounted on new carriages, while in the same place there were seventy or eighty new carriages for guns that were buried near the shed. . . . Ranges of godowns of great extent are filled with powder, sulfur, saltpeter, and other materials.86 83 84 85 86

Ibid, 35. To Nawab Gholam Russool Khan Bahadur from Steele, Blane, October 17, 1839. IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 22–23. To H.L Princeps, Officiating Secretary to the Government of India (Confidential) dated Simla, September 9, 1839. NAI Foreign Department (Secret), Consultation No. 1–2, 2–3. This account of the findings is taken from Hastings Fraser, Memoir and Correspondence of General James Stuart Fraser, 57. A more concise description is found in Blane and Steele to Ghulam Rasul Khan Bahadur, October 17, 1839, IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 22–24.

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The firsthand account of Rasul Khan’s arsenal provided by Pears is comparable to that of Armstrong in its scope and detail. Pears devoted several pages of his journal to detailing the war materials found in the Fort: The whole amount of stores discovered may be taken at 600 guns nearly; shell, shot, bullets, not yet counted, and I should almost think uncountable . . . Swords, matchlocks, suits of chain armor, double barreled guns, pistols (English, both), enormous quantities of saltpeter and sulfur, copper, lead (in pigs, marked “somebody, Liverpool”!!) and 5 or 600,000 pounds of powder, much of it fine canister . . . Of the guns 40 or 50 light field pieces of from 2 ad 3 to 6 pounders, were found with cartridges complete, ready for the field. These were all in one shed . . . Three or four hundred guns were found laid in regular order in a courtyard overgrown with grass.87

Much of what Pears and his fellow soldiers had found lay buried beneath sheds and other structures of the Fort. This he claimed is why the inspectors had initially missed them. The secrecy and deception employed by the Nawab and his escorts further legitimated the Company’s massive intervention. The Report that the Kurnool Commission eventually submitted to the government, however, noted that the weapons, though sizeable in quantity, were far from being ready for war. More importantly, the report suggests that Rasul Khan’s expenditure on arms left him little reserves from which to pay his soldiers. The Nawab had increased the number of Arab and Rohilla troops in his army, but had decreased their pay by nearly two thirds: For it has been his practice to let them run in arrear, and then make a compromise by the payment of something less than the amount due. This reduction has been effected by lowering the pay of every class of his troops in such a manner as to diminish in a great measure if not entirely destroy their efficiency. It may therefore we think be safely pronounced that the nawab’s troops were never in a less efficient state than they have been for the last few years.88

This report reinforced the sense that the Nawab, in spite of this impressive accumulation, posed no real threat to the Company. Pears too had noted that in light of the poor state of his gunpowder and other materials, “one shot would blow them all into the river.”89 These conclusions are 87 88 89

Journal of J.T. Pears, 35–36. Blane and Steele to the Chief Secretary to the Government at Fort St. George, n/d. IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 127. Journal of J.T. Pears, 37.

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consistent with the report that inspectors had provided five years earlier (discussed above). Ultimately, the Commissioners were less concerned about the capacity of Rasul Khan’s weapons than they were about their deliberate concealment. After the Nawab had vacated the Fort and relocated himself to the dargah at Zorapur, he was asked to provide the government with an explanation for the state of his military. On October 14, he issued a lengthy and carefully crafted response, which was most notable for its sense of history. The Nawab began by lauding the Company for its honesty and commitment to honoring its agreements. He drew attention to the fact that his Fort, land, and properties were grants from the Company. Having turned over his Fort, children, and zenana to the care of the Company, he trusted that the Company would eventually restore them. He reminded the Company that it had used military force to dislodge Muzuffar Khan from the masnad. Without entirely dismantling that regime, the Company had installed Rasul Khan. He trusted the Company would do the same in this instance. As for the weapons he accumulated in his Fort, the Nawab explained that he had done so not out of any ill intention, but purely out of his “fondness for military display”: I am assured that in this case you will act according to your word, for on your first order, I have without hesitation delivered my zenana, children, Fort and estates under the conditions of my obedience to the Company and depending upon their justice into their charge. Now therefore I have great confidence that for the Fort, my children and zenana I have no cause to fear and that from the lordly disposition, reputation, fear of God, and justice of the Company, the whole will be restored to me for they are trifles and of no value. The Honorable Company are at this time the King of Kings and in their greatness my country and estates are as an atom. The preparation of these military things was at first made from my fondness for military display and out of my sincerity and fidelity, under the impression that all of my property is the Honorable Company’s. I call God to witness that I considered that if any occasion arose to the Honorable Company, these things were necessary to my reputation as a soldier. Notwithstanding this, if I had received a single letter from Mr. Robertson directing me not to make such preparation, I would never have done it. Upon this point there is no written agreement between us. And certainly upon a point of such conse quence there should have been some written voucher.90 90

Translation of a Persian letter from Gholam Russool Khan Bahadur, Nawab of Kurnool, dated 5th of Shaban 1255, corresponding to October 14, 1839. NAI Foreign Dept. 1839 (Secret), Consultation December 4, 1839, No. 7/16, 65–66.

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To this, Rasul Khan added that he was far too weak to take on the might of the Company’s army. If powers far greater than him, such as the Nizam of Hyderabad, remained loyal to the Company, why should anyone suppose that he, as the head of a much smaller state, would be so bold as to launch a rebellion? “There is nothing in religion or in this world,” he wrote, “so desirable as honor and respect.”91 Rather than evoking the Company’s reproach and suspicion, Rasul Khan thought his arms would impress the Company and merit praise, confidence and honor. The Nawab noted – quite correctly – that the Company had only spelled out Kurnool’s obligations in terms of the annual tribute and numbers of troops it must commit to the Company. No treaty had stipulated the number of arms and troops the Nawabs could maintain at the Fort. Rasul Khan concluded by explaining that the possession of troops was a long-standing tradition in his family. Rohillas, Pathans, and Arabs had long been in the service of the Kurnool Nawabs. Their service to Rasul Khan did not signify rebellion, but adherence to family tradition.92 It is not easy to determine from his tone whether Rasul Khan was being naïve or clever. As if unaware of the gravity of the charges brought against him, Rasul Khan boldly declared his intention to proceed to Mecca “with some companions, relations and women.” For these he requested that the Company issue passports: After having visited Mecca, Medina, Baghdad, and Karbala, we will, if you should remember us kindly, return hither; or if not, as you have supported us here, so you will protect us there and the remainder of my family will remain here, happily under your protection, supported by my son Nawab Muhammed Alif Khan Bahadur, assisted by Namdar Khan Bahadur and Umudruz Khan Suriaji in the same manner as I have maintained them.93

The Commissioners, of course, rebuffed this request, regarding it as a diversion from their immediate demand for full compliance. Rasul Khan’s Diwan, Namdar Khan, would later attempt to make a case for the Nawab’s insanity. He used this “insanity plea” to explain not only Rasul Khan’s reckless accumulation of arms but also his ambitions to wage war during his planned pilgrimage to Mecca. The Nawab, he claimed, had heard of a planned invasion of Afghanistan. At some point during this journey, Rasul Khan intended to fight the armies of Muhammad Ali Pasha

91 93

92 Ibid, 73. Ibid, 74. Translation of a Persian letter from Ghulam Rasul Khan, dated 5th of Shaban 1255, corresponding to October 14, 1839. Ibid, 70.

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and take control over Egypt.94 Throughout his narration, Namdar Khan insisted in the most earnest manner that Rasul Khan held no ill feelings toward the Company and maintained no contact whatsoever with Mubariz ud-Daula. He urged the Commissioners to recognize the antiquity of Rasul Khan’s family. It was “the last of the high Pathan houses in southern India.” He pleaded that the Company exert its influence so that “so old and noble a family might not be deprived of their inheritance through the fault or misfortune of one member of it.”95 The Commissioners dismissed the claims of Rasul Khan and his Minister as disingenuous and misleading. If his stores were due to his “fondness for display,” why did he conceal them in the zenana? Moreover, even if the maintenance of a military was central to the traditions of Pathan ruling families, the Nawab had taken this tradition to an unacceptable extreme: “You have collected canon and stores upon a scale greatly beyond the wants of your jagir and with an extravagant waste of your revenues.”96 The Commissioners also suggested that the Nawab could easily recruit more troops in order to make optimal use of his huge arsenal in a battle. Whereas it takes a long time to acquire “many hundreds of guns and mortars,” troops and provisions, they noted, “may be collected in a very short time.”97 In light of the Nawab’s efforts to conceal his arsenal from the Company, the Commissioners declared that they would resume “on behalf of the British Government the territory of Kurnool, and require [Rasul Khan] to deliver [himself] up.”98 For the Nawab to “deliver himself up” to the Company was no simple affair. The Rohilla and Arab troops who had guarded him at the Zorapur dargah refused to allow him to do so. The Nawab himself had noted their loyalty to him: Now according to custom, they are here along with me. But their intention is not inconsistent with their obedience and fidelity. If I remain here they will obey me. If a passport to Mecca will be given, they will proceed thither along with me.99

As much as the Nawab wished to present his guards as being motivated by a sense of loyalty, the events that unfolded indicate that their chief concern 94 95 96 97 99

To the Chief Secretary to the Government, Fort St. George, 28–29. NAI Foreign (Secret) Department. Consultations of October 16, 1839, No. 17, 28–29. Ibid. These words attributed to Namdar Khan were part of the Commission’s report. To Nawab Ghulam Rasul Khan, from the Commissioners, Steel and Blane, October 17, 1839. IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 28. 98 Ibid, 24. Ibid, 25. Rasul Khan to Commissioners, October 14, 1839. IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 48.

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was financial: They wanted to be paid for their services – either by the Company or the Nawab himself – before turning him over. Upon learning that this was their most pressing concern, the Commissioners told Shah Wali Khan, the head of the Nawab’s Rohilla troops, that he and his troops could no longer remain in Kurnool District since Rasul Khan is no longer the ruler. The Commissioners stated that the government guaranteed the payment of all arrears that were due to Shah Wali Khan and his men, and to grant them passports to proceed back to their own country, “with security of life and property.”100 The incensed Shah Wali Khan, it appears, trusted neither the Nawab nor the Company. He would only be pacified by hard cash delivered on the spot. The final efforts to avert a military confrontation came through the mediation of the Commissioner’s munshi, Abdul Ali.101 He moved back and forth by foot, conveying messages between Colonel Dyce and the Commissioners (Blane and Steel) and the Nawab and Shah Wali Khan. Abdul Ali’s summary of these negotiations reveals dynamics that worked in multiple directions – between the parties at the dargah and the Company and between the Nawab and his chief guards. After a series of petty disagreements over the precise manner in which letters should be delivered to the Nawab (for example, read aloud by the munshi or simply hand delivered to the Nawab), Dyce requested that Rasul Khan set aside his guard, leave the dargah, and be escorted by palanquin to Dyce’s tent. He assured the Nawab that he would be treated with every honor. To this, the Nawab responded, I am a tributary and friend of the Company. What fault have I committed? I told Namdar Khan to show the gentlemen all the military stores which were concealed, besides which they never made any inquiries of me . . . I am helpless. For God’s sake, go and tell the Colonel that I intend to go to Mecca and not remain here and to give me a passport for myself and my people. When I will set off immediately, my family and the young Nawab are under your charge.102

To this, Dyce reiterated that he was not authorized to issue the Nawab passports and warned that if the Nawab did not deliver himself up, “many people would unnecessarily suffer.”103 At this point, one of the Nawab’s 100 101 102 103

Translation. To Jamadar Shah Wali Khan, and all the other Jamadars of Foreign Troops near Zorapur. October 17, 1839. IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 29. A munshi, literally a “writer,” is a secretary or scribe employed for Persian correspondence. Translation of the statement of Abdul Ali, Persian Munshi to the Commissioners, October 18, 1839. IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 51. Ibid.

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own confidantes, Ashraf Khan pleaded with him to turn himself over. If, after all, he had intended to fight the Company, he should not have abandoned the Fort. To this, the Nawab responded, “Whose Fort is it? It is the Company’s, and it has been delivered to them. What objection was there?”104 When Rasul Khan finally agreed to be escorted by palanquin to Dyce’s tent, Shah Wali Khan prohibited him from doing so. He told the munshi that the Nawab must first pay him the balance owed to him and that he must receive a passport (rahdari). At this point, Dyce invited Shah Wali Khan to his tent to negotiate and Shah Wali Khan consented. Pears described the Rohilla Chief as a “great, tall man” with a long, black beard. His body was covered with a “superb armor,” and he carried on his person a long sword, a dagger, and a pistol.105 When Dyce handed Shah Wali Khan papers that stipulated the terms of his payment, Shah Wali Khan threw them to the ground and declared “I believe none of you; you, your government and your paper are all equally full of deceit.”106 Dyce then presented the papers to another man and asked him to try to persuade Shah Wali Khan to act otherwise. This other man, apparently, was an Arab Jamadar to whom Rasul Khan also owed a sizeable amount of money. He complained that his name did not appear on the document and insisted that the terms be revised to include him in its assurances. Afterwards, other sawars (native cavalry soldiers) came forward and made similar demands. Dyce responded by assuring them that the original document “was addressed to all foreign troops.”107 Dyce also reminded the men that the hour was late and that he would give the men another half hour to consider. Back at the dargah, Rasul Khan then intervened by offering to pay the balances of Shah Wali Khan and the Arab Jamadar on the spot. He attempted to assure Shah Wali Khan that he would not only pay him what was owed but also give him a certificate of dismissal if he would let him go. He asked the Rohilla Chief why he was unnecessarily putting his life in danger. Rasul Khan also stated that the munshi, Abdul Ali would make arrangements for the issuing of the passports afterwards. When Abdul Ali agreed to comply with this request, Shah Wali Khan insisted that Abdul Ali must remain with him until the passport was delivered, since he “might be telling lies.” By this time, Dyce had nearly lost all patience, the “half hour” having long expired. He repeated his demand that the Arab and Rohilla troops be 104

Ibid, 53.

105

Journal of J.T. Pears, 42.

106

Ibid, 43.

107

Ibid, 56.

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Figure 4

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View of Trichinopoly, British Library

moved to one side to allow the Nawab to come out with Dyce’s guard. If they did not comply, he would be compelled to open fire. Abdul Ali recounts the transactions that preceded the commencement of combat: At this moment a boy came with a message from the colonel to me to bring back the answer without delay but one of the Rohillas thrust him away. I remonstrated with him when another Rohilla told me in the most insolent manner to go back and tell the colonel to begin fighting if he liked, and to open his guns, that they were not afraid, and were ready for him. I went immediately and told this to the colonel, who told me to stand on one side, and then ordered the bugles to sound, when the firing of the guns and musketry immediately commenced.108

From the fighting that ensued, two European officers and ten privates were killed, along with eleven sepoys. Many more were reported as wounded or missing. The Nawab’s troops suffered greater casualties. After the fighting had ceased, the Company arrested the unharmed Nawab along with ninety-eight of his soldiers, many of whom were wounded.109 The Company made Ghulam Rasul Khan a state prisoner at the Fort in Trichinopoly (see Figure 4). From prison, Rasul Khan continued to press the case for his own innocence. He described how he had every intention of disclosing the full extent of his arsenal to the inspectors, but that his minister, Namdar Khan had deceived him by not showing the inspectors everything.110 Rasul Khan made no mention of the alleged contracts that 108 109 110

Ibid, 58–59. Madras Spectator, October 23, 1839. In Spectator, a weekly journal of news, politics, literature and science, Vol. 13, 1840 (London: Joseph Clayton, 1840), 57. Translation of a Hindustani statement made by Ghulam Rasul Khan, Ex-Nawab of Kurnool and bearing his Signature, December 4, 1839. IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 161–63.

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Namdar Khan had secured for himself with dealers of weapons and munitions, a report that circulated long after the fact without substantiation. Details from the accounts of his imprisonment, however, add new dimensions to a story already riddled with intrigue. Trichinopoly (then known as Trichy, now as Tiruchirappalli) was a southern city located along the banks of the Caveri River. Its sizeable Fort complex contained religious institutions, which serviced both inmates and troops (see Figure 4). From numerous accounts of Rasul Khan’s imprisonment, it appears that he developed a curiosity about Christianity while in prison, began attending services in the Fort’s chapel, and even underwent a “private baptism.” These developments preceded his brutal murder by an Arab inmate as he was leaving the chapel. Whereas fellow Muslims attributed his affinity for Christianity to an “aberration of intellect,”111 the missionary who conducted the services at the Fort, William Hickey of the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel, presents an alternative view. His account of the Nawab’s last days describes him as actively seeking his services: The Nabob of Kurnool has been basely assassinated in my own church in the fort of Trichinopoly. The unfortunate man began to read Persian and Hindostanee tracts regarding the truth of our holy religion, and so strong was the impression made upon his mind that Muhammedanism was an imposture and Christianity the true faith, that he earnestly requested an interview with me several times but, considering the circumstances under which he was placed, did not think it prudent to obey his wishes, but promised to send him an Hindostanee Gospel as soon as procurable. In the mean time he begged permission to attend church, and did attend for two Sabbaths regularly, i.e., until the 12th. After the morning service in English, he remained, without going home for his dinner, until 3:00pm, in order to be present at the Tamil service also, when he was stabbed mortally, and expired five hours after. The wounds were received in his stomach. He suffered dreadfully, but in the midst of his sufferings, he recognized the Padre with an affectionate look, pointing towards heaven with the exclamation “Ullah.” I have reason to believe he died [a] believer in Christ, from his having requested of me the administration of private baptism, before this dreadful event had happened, but that wish was duly communicated after he had been assassinated. The Mussalmen here think he richly deserved his end, for having disgraced their cause by being found within the precincts of Christian church, and they have buried him on the highway, near the west gate of the fort. He was refused, while alive, 111

Extract Fort St. George Secret Consultation of July 28, 1849. Letter from Magistrate of Trichinopoly to the Chief Secretary to the Government, July 14, 1840. IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 347.

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admission into their mosques, for wishing to become Christian, which made him more stronglv to incline to embrace our faith.112

The Reverend’s account understandably stresses the religious aspects of Rasul Khan’s time in prison. His description of the Nawab’s chapel attendance is detached from any of the events that led to his imprisonment, most notably the charges concerning his seditious designs and his strenuous efforts to prove his innocence. Omitted from Hickey’s narration is any sense that Rasul Khan’s chapel attendance could have been part of his attempts to demonstrate his loyalty to the Company. So strongly, it appears, had he wished to convince the Company of his loyalty and of his betrayal (by fellow Muslims) that he embraced in prison the religion of his rulers. A separate report supports this impression: [T]he Nawab expired five hours afterwards, to the last protesting himself innocent of having conspired against the British Government, and declar ing that his actions had been misrepresented by his enemies, and that he felt sure that his innocence would, one day or other, be made manifest.113

Even if the Nawab had sought some form of vindication by affiliating himself with Christianity, the action would further diminish his standing before his compatriots at Kurnool. In addition to the other crimes for which they had accused him, they could now remember him as an apostate Muslim. According to Arthur Hathaway, the Magistrate of Trichinopoly, Rasul Khan’s murderer was Haji Shaikh Ahmed. He murdered the Nawab for taking his wife from him and making her a part of his harem.114 The obscure testimony of the murderer, however, never mentions this. On the contrary, it reinforces the interpretation given above, namely that the Nawab’s Christian leanings were his way of pressing the case for his innocence and defying those who had betrayed him. “For the sake of the Muhammedan religion,” Haji Shaikh Ahmed declared, “I killed the [Nawab].”115 He described an instance when Rasul Khan had asked an attendant to acquire food left on the table of an 112 113 114

115

“Murder of the Ex-Nawab of Kurnool,” in The Museum of Foreign Literature, Science and Art, Volume 12, Jan.-April 1841 (Philadelphia: Little and Co., 1841), 124. United Service Gazette, July 21, 1839. In The Museum of Foreign Literature, Science and Art, Volume 12, Jan.–April 1841 (Philadelphia: Little and Co., 1841), 124. Extract Fort St. George Secret Consultation of July 28, 1849. Letter from Magistrate of Trichinopoly to the Chief Secretary to the Government, July 14, 1840. IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 343–47. The deposition of Haji Shaikh Ahmed, the son of Shaikh Bodin, an inhabitant of Kurnool, aged forty years, of the Suni religion, caste Shaikh. Dated July 13, 1840. IOR F/4/1880, File 79793, 348.

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Englishman. He then proceeded to eat the food in front of two Muslim clerics declaring, “I have become a Christian and have disgraced the Muhammedan religion.” When asked why he wanted to eat the Englishman’s food, Rasul Khan responded, “The Muhammedan religion is not good, and the English Chief has doubted me (italics added). Therefore I have embraced the Christian religion.” According to Ahmed, Rasul Khan then instructed him, Go and tell the people at Kurnool that I have become a Christian, after this return and murder me. If you do not kill me you are not a good Mussalman. . . . If you murder me, I will pardon you.116

As with the account of Reverend Hickey, Ahmed’s testimony possesses its own filter, which casts his own behavior and that of the imprisoned Nawab as being motivated by religious factors. Ahmed made no mention of the Nawab having taken his wife, but highlighted choices of Rasul Khan that signaled his emasculation and departure from Islam.

Conclusion This chapter has demonstrated how, in the context of the Wahhabi conspiracy, powerful local factors were at work in contributing to the demise of Ghulam Rasul Khan. For a time, the Company scrutinized Kurnool because of its suspicions – at times bordering on paranoia – concerning the Nawab’s involvement in a transnational conspiracy against the British Empire. As these fears gradually subsided, what remained were stockpiles of weapons in his Fort and a range of criticisms of Rasul Khan as an individual leader. In this way, a focus on Rasul Khan as an autonomous individual and his “whimsical passions” gradually supplanted the global and conspiratorial aspects of the Company’s dealings with Kurnool. Well before the investigation of the conspiracy (1838–39), the Company had developed a troubled relationship with Kurnool because of the way the Nawab Alif Khan II had promoted the succession of Rasul Khan ahead of his five older brothers. On two occasions, the Company army intervened to ensure a “proper” succession. Later on, as the Company investigated Rasul Khan’s ties to Mubariz ud-Daula and Wahhabism, many factions within Kurnool voiced grievances about Rasul Khan. These included Brahmins, mercenaries, merchants, Rasul Khan’s brothers, and men dispossessed of their wives. It was within this context of local grievance that 116

Ibid.

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enemies of Rasul Khan were able to exploit the Company’s paranoia concerning the Wahhabi conspiracy. Three cousins of the Nawab and a sycophantic neighbor of the British Resident (Mahdi Ali) brought a letter to the attention of the Company, which allegedly tied Rasul Khan to Mubariz ud-Daula. Even though the Company was never able to identify the author of the letter, the fact of its forgery demonstrated that someone was attempting to remove him from power. As the Company proceeded with its investigation of Rasul Khan’s crimes against the state, the matter of his Wahhabi connections gradually gave way to his personal obsession with arms, fowl, and women. His weapons, of course, were the Company’s chief concern. In the absence of any evidence linking Rasul Khan to Wahhabism, it became more and more difficult for the Company to view his weapons as serving a wider conspiracy. Certainly, there were officials such as J.T. Pears, the Company army’s Chief Engineer, who continued to beat the drum of a more extensive collaboration. In the end, however, it was idiosyncratic factors, not the grand conspiracy, which explained Rasul Khan’s weapons. Another striking feature of the Company’s investigation of Rasul Khan are the contradictory perspectives it rendered at every stage. Alongside suspicions held by some officials about Rasul Khan’s participation in the conspiracy were conclusions drawn by others that he had all along been the target of a conspiracy, not a participant. Public accounts that followed the Company’s annexation of Kurnool never fully absolved him of his crimes. Even after the Commissioners had discounted Frasier’s account of the incriminating letter, and even after they had concluded that the weapons in Rasul Khan’s Fort were far from being war ready, the Company was able to draw on local adversity toward the Nawab to legitimate its actions. In the absence of any proof of sedition, the Company could deploy a rationale for its actions that has become all too familiar in recent history: The government had acted upon false intelligence, but had nevertheless rid the world of a bad ruler.

chapter 4

A Diamond in the Trough Lessons from the Fall of Abbas Ali Khan

One of the most intriguing aspects of the Deccan’s Wahhabi conspiracy is the spotlight it cast on relatively unknown districts of southern India. It drew obscure places such as Kurnool and Udayagiri into a larger story of contestation between the British Empire and her global imperial rivals. The chief protagonists of this story, of course, are so-called Wahhabis – those charismatic, mobile preachers of reform who called Muslims of the Deccan to return to the “true,” scripture-based Islam and integrated converts into wider networks of the faithful. These networks included reformers of Tonk, Bhopal, Patna, and Sindh across north India as well as those who moved back and forth along trade routes connecting India to Central Asia. The ideological fervor with which reformers made converts from among the sepoys and committed them to a greater struggle, or jihad against their infidel rulers was particularly unsettling to officials of the Company. The Company’s preoccupation with ideological or transnational aspects of Wahhabism, however, concealed a profane and corrupting underside of the politics unleashed by such preoccupation. The specter of a global threat to British power gave rise to a myth that eventually assumed a life of its own: That of the itinerant Muslim reformer, who used the solidarity of a unitary umma and contacts with global financiers and rival regimes to coordinate a concerted challenge to British power in India. The last chapter has shown how Company officials could invoke this myth to depose a Muslim prince not of their liking, and how local agents could exploit the same myth to implicate their prince in crimes against the state. Within the neighboring district of Nellore, local actors used the myth of the dreaded Wahhabi to advance causes having nothing to do with religion. This led to the downfall of yet another Muslim notable, Abbas Ali Khan. Ali Khan was the Jagirdar (holder of a land grant, or jagir) of Udayagiri, a region located within Nellore District (see Map 1, p. 5). 142

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The Company accused Abbas Ali Khan of cooperating with Mubariz ud-Daula and Ghulam Rasul Khan in the envisioned revolt. Timothy Vansittart Stonhouse, the Principal Collector at Nellore, claimed that Ali Khan routinely hosted suspicious foreigners at his palace in Udayagiri, including the Arabs he had arrested at Nellore. These men, he claimed, were linked to Wahhabi networks within and beyond British India. Stonhouse and Nellore’s Special Commissioner, G.J. Cassamajor, also believed Ali Khan to have played a leading role in providing Rasul Khan with the weapons he hid in his palace. Ali Khan planned on using the huge Hill Fort at Udayagiri to serve as a supply post (for arms and grain) for the rebel army that would ultimately seize control over the Deccan and establish Mubariz ud-Daula as its Subedar. Here again, the Company failed to produce physical evidence to substantiate these claims. Authorities claimed that prior to the arrival of state appointed inspectors at the Hill Fort, Ali Khan’s men had exploded much of the gunpowder and dumped other war materials into wells, streams, and troughs. As for the seditious correspondence that Ali Khan had maintained with Wahhabis, they were convinced that he had either burned all such letters or destroyed them by rubbing them in water. In spite of repeated attempts by an aged and infirm Ali Khan to defend his innocence and demonstrate how his enemies had framed him, the Company imprisoned him at Chingleput in November 1839 and assumed possession of his jagir.1 He died in prison shortly thereafter. Years after the tragic demise of Abbas Ali Khan, a Madras administrator named Patrick Boyle Smollett cited Udayagiri as an instance of the Company’s corrupt methods of confiscating the lands of zamindars (hereditary landholders). Smollett, the former Collector of Vizagapatnam (1842, 1846–50) was one among several administrators who used firsthand experience to publically expose abuses of power by the Company. These included not only practices associated with the acquisition of estates but also the use of torture in extracting revenue from ryots (individual cultivators).2 Smollett’s discussion of Udayagiri highlights the Company’s 1

2

The precise date of the Company’s assumption of Udayagiri is unclear. A communication dated December 4, 1839 declares the event to have been completed and recommended various steps the Company could take to ensure the maintenance of Ali Khan’s family. To the Secretary to the Board of Revenue from Storehouse, Principal Collector of Nellore, December 4, 1839. IOR F/4/1875, File 79779, 14. He was joined by Malcolm Lewin, the outspoken judge of the Madras Sadr Adalat (court of appeals) and other members of the 1855 “Torture Commission.” See Malcolm Lewin, Is the Practice of Torture in Madras with the Sanction of the Authorities of Leadenhall Street? (Westminster: Thomas Brettell, 1856).

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pecuniary interest in acquiring the jagir as well as the absence of any trial or recourse for Ali Khan after his arrest: The Woodiagherry jagheer in Nellore, worth 80,000 rupees a year, was confiscated, in 1840, in even a more summary manner, without a reasonable excuse and without recourse even to the forms of law. The jagheerdar was suspected of treasonable practices, in conjunction with the Rajah of Kur nool, at a time when a perfect panic reigned in Madras of Russian intrigue. A Commissioner was sent to enquire into the truth of this man’s alleged treason, who, without seeing the jagheerdar, a Muhammedan nobleman and a man of seventy years of age, was then seized without resistance, and detained in confinement at Chingleput for life without trial, his estate being confiscated. Every inhabitant of Nellore district believes that the charges were unfounded, and the Commissioners in Kurnool at that day had opportunities of knowing that some of the papers on which the jagheerdar was condemned, unheard, were forgeries. Thus, however, a great estate was obtained and an old native family was ruined, while the collector congratu lated himself that the escheat was a profitable one to the Government . . .3

Smollett’s hindsight appraisal presents the Company as the chief agent behind Ali Khan’s demise. The Company’s claims about Ali Khan’s Wahhabi ties provided a ruse that masked its own financial and political motives for acquiring Udayagiri. As important as it is to consider all of the Company’s motives for moving against Ali Khan, Smollett’s observations do not explain the massive resources that officials at Madras, Nellore, and Hyderabad had committed to thwarting the alleged Wahhabi conspiracy, resources resulting in large numbers of detentions, interrogations, and arrests. Moreover, Smollett’s synopsis of events at Udayagiri omits a larger cast of actors who were complicit in manufacturing the charges against Ali Khan. What exactly were their motives for doing so? Developments in Udayagiri will disappoint anyone seeking evidence of a proxy war between competing religions or civilizations. Beneath the veneer of a Manichean confrontation between the British Empire and the “wrong kind of Islam” lay in Udayagiri some of the most petty local politics imaginable. This chapter describes how disputes over job promotions in the Nellore Cutcherry (administrative office) and the search for a 3

Patrick Boyle Smollett, Madras: Its Civil Administration Being Rough Notes from Personal Observation, written in 1855 and 1856 (London: Richardson brothers, 1858), 76–77. His observations on Udayagiri are discussed by John Malcolm Forbes Ludlow, a founder of the Christian Socialist movement in England. Ludlow highlights the illegality of any party to become the seller and the purchaser of an estate, an act of fraud repeatedly committed by the Company as it acquired the estates of prominent Indians, held a public auction, and then became the highest bidder. John Malcolm Forbes Ludlow, Thoughts on the Policy of the Crown towards India (London: James Ridgway, 1859), 283–84.

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missing diamond in Ali Khan’s palace attached themselves to the discourse of a global Muslim conspiracy. Local agents at Nellore tapped the discourse of conspiracy in order to advance the careers of certain individuals and effect the demise of others. As with other nodes of the conspiracy discussed in this book, developments in Udayagiri illustrate how local actors – even more than religious globetrotters – consistently infused the Wahhabi threat with new life and prompted state agencies to police Muslims with renewed vigor. To effectively capture these developments, this chapter first presents the Company’s case against Abbas Ali Khan. This includes his alleged arms manufacturing, contacts with Kurnool and Hyderabad, and measures to conceal his activities from the Company. This case against him draws extensively on the testimonies of local witnesses as well as the findings of Nellore officials. After presenting what became the “official account” of Ali Khan’s crimes, the chapter describes a series of plots and local skirmishes, which call the official account into question. These local plots present a counter-narrative to the charges brought against the Jagirdar. The counternarrative draws on Ali Khan’s own account of what happened along with an explanation provided by his family in a pamphlet published after his death. My aim in presenting these highly disparate accounts of Ali Khan’s demise has less to do with the question of his guilt or innocence than with the manner in which local disputes, the incentives of Nellore officials, and the fear of the dreaded Wahhabi fed off of each other. Together they drove the politics of conspiracy even in the apparent absence of Wahhabis. Undoubtedly, Udayagiri represents an extreme case in which frivolous cutcherry politics were framed in terms of a global conspiracy, but had no demonstrable links to one. In Hyderabad, by comparison, the links to Muslim reformers were real, but were intimately tied to an individual (Mubariz ud-Daula) and to a context that provided a local base for reformist activities. Developments at Udayagiri counterbalance the preoccupation with the global and the ideological in the treatment of Wahhabism.4 They draw attention to an independent layer of maneuvering, in which local actors exploited a climate of fear to advance their interests. By portraying Abbas 4

As historian Anil Seal once wrote in connection to Indian nationalism, ideology provides local actors with “a good tool for fine carving,” but “does not make big buildings.” Anil Seal, “Imperialism and Nationalism in India,” in Gallagher, Johnson and Seal (eds.), Locality, Province and Nation: Essays on Indian Politics, 1870–1940 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1973), 25.

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Ali Khan as an arms provider who collaborated with Wahhabis, local agents demonstrated their ability to deploy this emotive myth to prompt decisive action on the part of Nellore officials.

The Alleged Crimes of Abbas Ali Khan Prior to coming under British sovereignty in 1801, Udayagiri was under the authority of the Nizam of Hyderabad. During the early eighteenth century, the Nawab of Arcot (then in a subordinate alliance with the Nizam) appointed Sayyid Mustapha Ali Khan as the Faujdar (military governor) of Nellore. He came from a family of mullahs, who had earned the reputation of being pious ascetics. Mustapha Ali Khan eventually received the jagir of Udayagiri as a land grant from the Nizam of Hyderabad. This would be the only jagir in Nellore District to be ruled by a Muslim family. As a hereditary land grant, Udayagiri passed from Mustapha Ali Khan to Buderad Ali Khan, Sayyid Abdul Khader Khan, and finally in 1801 to Sayyid Abbas Ali Khan.5 Because of the highly fertile village lands situated within their jagir, Udayagiri’s rulers had little trouble paying the annual peshcash (tribute) they owed to the Nizam. Company officials considered Udayagiri to be among the most important jagirs in Nellore District. It consisted of 63 villages, many of which the Jagirdars had alienated to their own family members, subordinate renters, state accountants (carnams), or Brahmin priests.6 Moreover, it possessed one of the strongest Hill Forts of the Madras Presidency and was protected by a sizeable army. Under the Nizams, Udayagiri had remained a hereditary land grant for three generations. This changed, however, when the jagir came under the Company’s sovereignty. The Company gradually introduced a settlement in land tenure modeled after the Permanent Settlement instituted in Bengal.7 In 1801, the same year in which Abbas Ali Khan had become Udayagiri’s Jagirdar, the newly appointed Collector of Nellore, J.B. Travers, conducted a survey to “obtain information so full and accurate as would enable the Board 5 6

7

John Boswell, A Manual of the Nellore District in the Presidency of Madras (Madras: Government, 1873), 424. These land grants took the form of smaller jagirs, shrotriams (given to family members of the Nawabs or to learned Brahmins), inams, or manyams (held free of assessment in exchange for service). Boswell, A Manual of the Nellore District, 498. Under the Permanent Settlement, the Company drew a fixed, annual revenue from the zamindars, landlords invested with hereditary ownership of land. This system stood in contrast to ryotwari tenure, whereby individual cultivators were taxed without the mediating role of the zamindar.

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[of Revenue] to fix the demand of Government on the inhabitants in proportion to their resources.”8 Based on Travers’s assessment, the Company considerably increased the peshcash required of Udayagiri, an action that appears to have been met with considerable resistance.9 As a result of the friction created by this new demand, the Company declared Udayagiri to be a life grant only. Upon the death of Ali Khan, his jagir would not pass to either of his sons, Ghouse Sahib and Ali Hussein. The Company alone would determine its fate, mindful as it was of Udayagiri’s fertile lands, vast mineral resources, and strategic Hill Fort. The reduction of Ali Khan’s jagir to a life grant provided his accusers with a way of framing their charges against him: The new terms would have created no small degree of insecurity in the mind of Abbas Ali Khan and his family. To extend his family’s control of the jagir, he would have to appeal to some power other than the Company. It was only reasonable that this Pathan ruler, with ties to the ruling families of Kurnool and Hyderabad, would join their confederacy and receive in return for his participation a more lasting award of land and status under Muslim rule. Such was the logic that underlay the charges brought against Ali Khan. Ali Khan’s accusers, however, produced sparse evidence of any wrongdoing that would lend credence to such speculation. The Company’s investigation of Ali Khan’s alleged treason began as early as February 1839, but was most rigorous from October on, that is, after the arrests of Mubariz ud-Daula (June) and Ghulam Rasul Khan (October). One of the key informants early on was Nachapalli Narasinga Rao, an accountant of the Jagirdar. According to Narasinga Rao, Ali Khan maintained regular contact with Kurnool’s Nawab, Ghulam Rasul Khan.10 In April 1837, Ali Khan had asked Narasinga Rao to deliver two Persian letters and three elephants to Rasul Khan and his Minister, Namdar Khan. Narasinga Rao had not read the letters on account of not being able to read Persian. He claimed, however, that Ali Khan had asked him to deliver verbally the following message to Namdar Khan: The Udayagiri Jagir is only a life grant, and expressly declared not to be hereditary; whatever number of troops the Company may have in other parts of the country, they have only a very few in Nellore, Guntur, and Cuddapah and other neighboring Zillahs; if you will come quickly with a 8 9 10

Ibid, 500. A Brief Sketch of the History of Udayagiri, Compiled from the Family Records of Syud Abbas Ali Khan Bahadur, the Last Jagirdar of Udayagiri (Nellore: Sri Ranganaiki Vilasum Press, 1898), 9–10. To the Secretary to the Government in the Secret Department, Fort St. George. IOR F/4/1879, File 79790, 42.

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It is unclear from this oral summary of a letter (from Narasinga Rao’s recollection) what relevance its opening sentence bears to the rest of the declaration concerning war plans. Ali Khan would not have needed to provide any details concerning his “life grant” to Namdar Khan to justify his own involvement in the campaign. Narasinga Rao appears to have included this detail purely to signal to Stonhouse Ali Khan’s stake in the plot.12 The rest of the communication is significant because it provides a rare, South Indian mapping of the envisioned revolt, in contrast to the emphasis on North Indian venues (Tonk, Bhopal, Satara, etc.) mentioned by other Nellore detainees (discussed in Chapter 1). To support their case against Ali Khan, Stonhouse, and Cassamajor collected a considerable amount of oral evidence from Ali Khan’s close associates. They conducted most of their interviews, however, after his arrest in late November. The material from these interviews follows a familiar story line, one that links conflict in Central Asia and the Northwest Frontier to Mubariz ud-Daula’s campaign in British India. As the armies of the Shah of Persia and Dost Muhammad Khan converged on British India, warriors from Satara, Tonk, Bhopal, and Patna would seize control of North Indian military outposts. To this narration, witnesses at Udayagiri added a South Indian component. When the Company’s army was diverted to confront its enemies along the Frontier, soldiers from Hyderabad, Kurnool, Cuddapah, and Udayagiri would collaborate to seize control over South India. The operation would begin with the conquest of Hyderabad, extend to Nellore, and culminate with the defeat of the Company’s forces at Bangalore and finally 11 12

Ibid, 43–45. There appear to have been a number of Brahmins or other high caste Hindus who came forward to provide authorities with information about Ali Khan. Among them are Mulchetty Chencharamudu, a peon stationed at the thanah of Annamasamudram and Annalur Narsarao, carnam (accountant) of Pedda Annaloor (also in Udayagiri District). TNA No. 145 (Secret), July 30, 1839, 2752, 2929.

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Madras.13 The Udayagiri Hill Fort would serve as a secret venue for arms manufacturing and the storage of munitions and grain. Witnesses were also careful to note how the secrecy of this plot was eventually compromised. This necessitated an immediate elimination of the powder and balls that were stored at the Hill Fort and the destruction of all seditious correspondence with Kurnool and Hyderabad.14 The anecdotal evidence drawn from the Udayagiri witnesses after Ali Khan’s arrest appears at first glance to convincingly implicate him in treasonous activities. Witnesses assigned to Ali Khan a motive and described his collaboration with key people in Hyderabad and Kurnool in considerable detail. Strikingly absent from their testimonies, however, was any ability to direct officials to the powder and balls that Ali Khan had allegedly manufactured or to letters that proved his involvement. The only letters that Nellore officials were able to obtain in this connection were shown to be forgeries. Moreover, some of the witnesses, as we shall see, held some stake in seeing Ali Khan deposed. In the end, witnesses at Udayagiri fell short of providing any semblance of a smoking gun to prove Ali Khan’s treason. They did, however, manage to demonstrate Udayagiri’s integration into networks of information – including pathways of rumor and innuendo – which constituted the imagined landscape of the Wahhabi conspiracy. If nothing more, the following summary of their testimonies illustrates their awareness of the personnel, ideas, and infrastructure centered on Hyderabad’s Mubariz ud-Daula and his operations. Two individuals appear to have played a key role in linking Abbas Ali Khan to Mubariz ud-Daula’s designs: Ahmed Sahib, Ali Khan’s vakil (representative or agent) at Hyderabad, and more significantly, a Maulvi Mahdi.15 Maulvi Mahdi resided in Udayagiri and served as a close advisor to the Jagirdar. Mustapha Ali Khan, Abbas Ali Khan’s younger brother (perhaps named after the eighteenth-century Faujdar of Nellore who became Udayagiri’s first Jagirdar), deposed that it was Maulvi Mahdi who had “ruined the Jagirdar” by drawing him into the conspiracy.16 13 14 15 16

Elements of this script are found in the testimonies of several witnesses. That of Rahamatullah, the Jagirdar of Annamasamudram, develops in the greatest detail. Testimonies of Shah Abdul Gunni Khaderi, Mahomed Sultan, and Rahamatullah. IOR F/4/1879, File 79790, Appendix A, pps. 112, 156–57, 221, 224. Udayagiri’s “Maulvi Mahdi” must not be confused with Hyderabad’s “Mahdi Ali”. Testimony of Mustapha Ali Khan, resident of Chiruvela, a village of Udayagiri Jagir, age 52, and next brother of Jagirdar Abbas Ali Khan, November 28, 1839. IOR F/4/1879, File 79790, Appendix A; 134. Testimonies of the Udayagiri witnesses are all contained in Appendix A of shelf mark F/4/1879, File 79790. Hereafter, they are simply cited as “Appendix A” with name, date, and page number.

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Haji Khan, a Pathan resident of Udayagiri similarly claimed that Maulvi Mahdi had pressured Ali Khan into joining the conspiracy with assurances of prosperity. Maulvi Mahdi appears to have had a personal interest in acquiring Ali Khan’s jagir. He told Ali Khan that if he would go to Hyderabad and formally transfer the jagir to him, he would withhold the peshcash (payment of tribute) from the Company, pay Ali Khan a sum, and keep the rest for himself.17 Whereas none of the witnesses designated Maulvi Mahdi as a Wahhabi, some described his role in facilitating a robust correspondence between Ali Khan, Mubariz ud-Daula, and Ghulam Rasul Khan. Maulvi Mahdi routinely received letters from Hyderabad and Kurnool through private couriers and stored them in his home. In the following deposition, Muhamed Sultan, Maulvi Mahdi’s servant, described a letter from Rasul Khan to Abbas Ali Khan, mediated through the maulvi: a:

The Nabob of Kurnool sent word saying “there is an apprehension of war breaking out here that we intend to fight, you must be ready and assist me” and therefore powder and balls were being made ready. q: How did the Kurnool Nabob send word? a: He wrote a letter to Abbas Ali Khan. q: Did you hear when the letter which came first was read? a: When my master Maulvi Mahdi read the letter which was written to the Jagirdar I was then standing 2 or 3 fathom’s distance and heard it. . . .. q: State the words you had heard? a: There was written in it: “You are a Jagirdar; it is incumbent on you, when business occurs, to assist me with powder and balls and you must be ready in every way you must assist me when I send word.” This is what I heard.18

When Company officials became aware of this correspondence, they arrested Maulvi Mahdi and imprisoned him at Poonamallee (Madras). Prior to his arrest, Maulvi Mahdi had ordered another attendant of his to burn the “bundle” of such letters.19 Mustapha Ali Khan described the strong connection of his older brother (Ali Khan) to Hyderabad. This connection was facilitated by Ali Khan’s vakil, Ahmed Sahib. A most striking aspect of Mustapha Ali Khan’s description of 17

18 19

Testimony of Eslamuddin Khan, commonly called Haji Khan, Pashtun, Hanafi Sect, aged 70 years, merchant and resident at Muranabad, born at Kahir, a five days’ journey from Kabul, December 14, 1839. Appendix A, 92–93. Ibid, 210–11. Testimony of Mahomed Sultan, Mussulman, Sayyid sect, age about 24 years, servant of Maulvi Mahdi, resident at Udayagiri, December 4, 1839. Appendix A, 221–24.

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the Hyderabad connection was his inclusion of the Minister, Chandulal and the Paigah Commander, Shams ul-Umra in his narrative. Chandulal was widely believed to have managed all practical aspects of the Nizam’s government. As someone who was widely regarded as being loyal to the Company, Chandulal facilitated the Company’s attempts to influence the decisions of the Nizam. Mustapha Ali Khan, however, presents Chandulal as an accomplice to Mubariz’s campaign: Ahmed Sahib used to represent to the Jagirdar that he should have a jagir of two lakhs of rupees, if he would collect troops and serve the Hyderabad Nawab; that he, Ahmed Sahib, was a great friend of Shams ul Umra, the husband of the sister of Nasir ud Daula and Mubariz ud Daula and that he had arranged that he should be put up in the house of Shams ul Umra at Hyderabad. . . . I heard that letters used to go from the Jagirdar to Shams ul Umra and Chandulal and other Amirs through Ahmed Sahib, and his son who was at Hyderabad named Adam Sahib. . . . I also heard Ahmed Sahib say that Chandulal appeared outwardly a friend of the Company and the English gentlemen but inwardly was joined with Sham ul Umra and the rest against them. I heard Ahmed Sahib distinctly tell Abbas Ali Khan one day that he (Abbas Ali Khan) was under the protection of Mubariz ud Daula. Ahmed Sahib was the medium of communication between the Jagirdar and Mubariz ud Daula and the rest at Hyderabad.20

It appears from Mustapha Ali Khan’s testimony that the vakil Ahmed Sahib played a key role in disseminating information concerning the Hyderabad inner circle to persons of influence at Udayagiri. The claim, however, that the highest-ranking officers of the Nizam’s government had backed the conspiracy must be treated critically. In his own deposition, Ahmed Sahib testified that Abbas Ali Khan was in regular communication with Mubariz ud-Daula and Ghulam Rasul Khan: Since 9 or 10 months correspondence has taken place between Abbas Ali Khan Bahadur and Mubariz ud Daula about fighting the English Gentlemen. Ghulam Rasul Khan was in the habit of writing letters on the same subject to Abbas Ali Khan, and sending them by his own people. Abbas Ali Khan entertained 1000 peons who were kept in small numbers in the respective villages. We prepared gunpowder and balls and after this [became] known to the Collector, a part he threw away and part concealed. Of the letters written to him by Mubariz ud Daula and Ghulam Rasul Khan, some were torn up and some burnt.21 20 21

Testimony of Mustapha Ali Khan, Appendix A, 126–29. Statement of Ahmed Sahib before Aminuddin [and the] Inamdar of Chandalorpad, dated September 27, 1839. IOR F/4/1878, File 79789, 280. The controversial role played by Aminuddin in manufacturing evidence against Abbas Ali Khan is discussed in the latter part of this chapter.

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Two aspects of the above testimony must be considered when weighing its credibility. First, based on Mustapha Ali Khan’s testimony, it appears that Ahmed Sahib had an interest in facilitating the collaboration he describes. He tried to persuade Ali Khan to go to Hyderabad to meet with key people there, but never seems to have succeeded at doing so.22 Might he have confused aspiration with actuality, and invented ties (for example, between Ali Khan and Mubariz ud-Daula) where they did not exist? Second, the man before whom Ahmed Sahib had testified, Aminuddin Khan, is known to have played an active role in incriminating Ali Khan, in some instances by forging letters and making false claims.23 Whereas these developments are discussed in the following section, it suffices now to make note of the possible motives that underlay the above testimony, from the standpoint of both the witness and his interrogator. Rahamatullah, the Jagirdar of Annamasamudram (a village located in eastern Nellore District, near the coast), provided in his testimony a rare, South Indian mapping of Mubariz ud-Daula’s revolt (discussed in Chapter 1). His testimony is also significant for the manner in which he links Ali Khan to developments in Hyderabad. He claimed that the prospect of going to Hyderabad to negotiate for a more lasting land grant weighed heavily on the mind of Ali Khan. This is largely because of the constant appeals of his Hyderabad vakil, Ahmed Sahib: As the jagir would not be continued to his heirs after his death, and as he was far advanced in age, he wanted to take some measures about it and got some of Ahmed Sahib’s friends to write to Ahmed Sahib that he might speak to great persons at Hyderabad. Ahmed Sahib upon this first wrote him a letter stating that endeavors had already been making in different places to upset the Company Government; that he wanted to come to Udayagiri and mention all the circumstances; that if Abbas Ali Khan would give his assistance in this quarter, it would be for his good.24

According to Rahamatullah, the plan of Dost Muhammad Khan and the Shah of Persia to attack North India was suspended when the Company decided to commit troops from Bombay and Madras to confront them. At this point “another plan of operation” concerning the south was implemented.25 This plan integrated cities of the interior Deccan into a single domain to be conquered. The southern cities included Hyderabad, 22 23 24 25

Testimony of Mustapha Ali Khan, Appendix A, 125–26. These are discussed in some detail in A Brief Sketch of the History of Udayagiri. Testimony of Rahamatullah, Jagirdar of Annamasamudram, December 9, 1839. Appendix A, 103. Testimony of Rahamatullah, 104.

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Bellary, Cuddapah, and Kurnool and coastal Telugu speaking cities such as Masulipatnam, Vizagapatnam, Chittoor, Guntur, and Tirupati.26 In addition to its extensive geographical reach (linking Persia, Central Asia, and coastal South India), Rahamatullah’s testimony shares with Mustapha Ali Khan an inclusion of Hyderabadi royalty in the developing confederacy. Not only does his testimony, like that of Mustapha Ali Khan, include Chandulal and Shams ul-Umra; it also goes so far as to portray Nizam Nasir ud-Daula as a silent accomplice to his younger brother’s revolt: Mubariz ud Daula and another amir at Hyderabad were to come to Kurnool. Dost Muhammad Khan on the side of Cabul [and] Candahar and Satara Raja were to afford assistance by sending their troops; Chandulal was secretly to send as far as 10,000 horse belonging to some jagirdar of Hyderabad. This circumstance was privately known to Nasir ud Daula and he had also given his assent to it.27

Only with the Nizam’s consent and Chandulal’s involvement with logistics would the southern campaign be able to secure the 20,000 troops from Hyderabad that were needed to advance its ambitious agenda. Mustapha Ali Khan and Rahamatullah, who each referenced Ahmed Sahib, are the only witnesses to have included the highest ranks of the Nizam’s government in the conspiracy.28 Mustapha Ali Khan’s acknowledgment of Chandulal’s “outward” appearance of loyalty to the Company, however, lends only a small measure of credibility to his testimony. If his and Rahamatullah’s claims were to be true, they would have possessed information that escaped the detection of the Hyderabad Resident James Fraser and his assistant, D.A. Malcolm, the Kurnool Commissioners, and the authorities at Nellore. These are officials who held a very high stake in being aware of such involvement. Moreover, these two men would have divulged vital details that none of the Hyderabad witnesses had ever even intimated (see Chapter 2). Rahamatullah appears to have had a troubled relationship with Abbas Ali Khan, a fact that might explain his decision to implicate him in the conspiracy. At one point in his testimony, he suggested that Ali Khan used to divulge details about his correspondence with Kurnool and Hyderabad 26 28

27 Ibid, 105. Testimony of Rahamatullah, December 9, 1839. Appendix A, 104–05. The witness, Eslamuddin Khan mentions Chandulal, but does not portray him as facilitating Mubariz’s plans. He described the contents of a letter, which declared to Ali Khan “if you were to come to Hyderabad, Chandulal and Shams ul-Umra will come four stages to meet you. You will get a jagir of two or three lakhs of rupees, and you will do well.” Testimony of Eslamuddin, 91–92.

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while he had been “merry” with drink. An earlier disagreement between him and Ali Khan (whose details he did not divulge), however, prevented Ali Khan from being entirely forthcoming about his affairs.29 Rahamatullah claimed that it was Maulvi Mahdi who had “made [him] and Abbas Ali Khan friends.”30 The details provided by Rahamatullah do little to establish or diminish the validity of his claims. His testimony, however, does underscore the vital roles played by Ahmed Sahib and Maulvi Mahdi in providing an information gateway between Udayagiri and Hyderabad. T.V. Stonhouse (Nellore’s Collector) also noted the unstable relationship between Rahamatullah and Ali Khan. He claimed, however, that it was Shaikh Abdullah, one of the Arab migrants arrested at Nellore (whose story is discussed in Chapter 1), who had reconciled them. Stonhouse had all along accused Ali Khan of hosting “foreign emissaries” such as Shaikh Abdullah at Udayagiri. Even after Shaikh Abdullah had helped them resolve their differences, Ali Khan had feared that Rahamatullah would betray him. After Shaikh Abdullah and the other Arabs were arrested at Nellore, Ali Khan, according to Stonhouse, spent extended time at Annamasamudram, most likely to secure Rahamatullah’s cooperation.31 After Nellore officials arrested Ali Khan, Rahamatullah clearly had no trouble in implicating his “friend” in treasonous plots against the Company. The witnesses at Udayagiri highlighted Ali Khan’s participation in Mubariz’s conspiracy, but did not portray him as a Wahhabi. In fact, none of the witnesses presented his involvement in terms of his becoming a Wahhabi or a Wahhabi sympathizer. As witnesses described the larger aspirations of the conspirators, references to the tenets of Muslim reformers (e.g., strict adherence to the Qur’an and sharia and the abandonment of polytheistic practices) were conspicuously absent. Even Stonhouse and Cassamajor made no references to Wahhabism in connection to developments in Udayagiri. This omission is particularly noteworthy when we consider Udayagiri’s proximity to the city of Nellore, a key center for Muslim reformist activity.32 Instead of referencing Wahhabism, at least four witnesses spoke of a “Mughal government” that would replace that of the Company. Followers of Sayyid Ahmad had no aspirations to restore Mughal rule, since this represented an age of imperial decadence and 29 31 32

30 Rahamatullah, 120–21. Rahamatullah, 102. Report of T.V. Stonehouse. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 72–73. This is due in large part to the charismatic influence of Maulvi Muhammed Ali and the campaigns of preaching and tract distributions that Wahhabi kalifa had coordinated at Nellore. Sunil Chander, “From a Pre-Colonial Order to a Princely State: Hyderabad in Transition, c1748–1865,” Ph.D. Dissertation Submitted to the Faculty of History, Cambridge University, 1987, 172–73, note 121.

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spiritual compromise. Mustapha Ali Khan noted the Jagirdar’s affinity with traveling Arabs, but not with Wahhabism as such: I heard the Jagirdar say the Company’s Government would be overturned and a Mughal Government established and he used to give large presents to Arabs who came to Udayagiri and was very glad when they came.33

Munna Seshu, an elderly Brahmin who managed villages in Udayagiri, stated that Ali Khan’s sons had made similar declarations of an imminent end to Company rule and the establishment of Mughal rule.34 Witness after witness repeated this standard script.35 It may have been the case that the witnesses had used words in their mother tongues (Telugu or Hindustani), which were recorded as “Mughal” but could have been recorded as “Muslim” or “Muhammedan.” Even so, the absence of any language intimating a distinctly Wahhabi vision is notable. In their roles as informers for the Company, witnesses at Udayagiri drew more attention to the benefits of regime change for a landholder such as Abbas Ali Khan than to the particularities of Wahhabi doctrine. The witness who came closest to presenting a genuine Wahhabi connection of Ali Khan is Shah Abdul Ghunni Khaderi, Ali Khan’s nephew. He described a letter that Ali Khan had received from Maulvi Salim, the close advisor to Mubariz ud-Daula at Hyderabad. Khaderi claimed that Shaikh Abdullah and Abdul Ruzzaq had traveled from Hyderabad to Udayagiri concealing letters (one of which was from Salim) in their shoes.36 According to Khaderi, the focus of Salim’s letter was the increasingly sympathetic posture of the Hyderabad army toward Mubariz’s planned revolt: That two Subedar majors of the Company’s troops at Secunderabad had been gained over and had agreed in the event of an attack on the Com pany’s troops at Secunderabad, that as they had also gained over some sepoys and troops, they would give their assistance on the occasion.37 33 34

35 36 37

Testimony of Mustapha Ali Khan, Appendix A, 130. Testimony of Munna Seshu, Brahmin, Siva Sect, 75 years old, resident at Mundala Nainapalli, manager of the villages of Abbas Ali Khan, November 1, 1839, 237. There appear to have been a cluster of Hindus who came forward and provided information about Ali Khan. Among them are Mulchetty Chencharamudu, a peon stationed at the police thanah of Annamasamudram, Annalur Narasarao, Carnam (accountant) of Pedda Annaloor in the Udayagiri Jagir. TNA No. 145 (Secret), July 30, 1839, 2752 and No. 145 (Secret), 13 August 1839, 2929. See testimonies of Sayyid Mustapha Ali Khan, Shah Abdul Ghunni Khaderi, Munna Seshu, and Gangula Vengama Naidu, Appendix A, 130, 139, 237, and 261 respectively. The interrogator, however, had to supply Khaderi with Abdul Ruzzaq’s name. Ibid, 155. Testimony of Shah Abdul Ghunni Khaderi, Mashaikh, December 18, 1839. Appendix A, 139.

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Here again, the absence of any reference to Wahhabis is as significant as Khaderi’s reference to Salim, perhaps the most influential Wahhabi in Mubariz’s cohort (see Chapter 2). Khaderi’s testimony also described Ali Khan’s role in supplying Rasul Khan with weapons. Rasul Khan had allegedly written to Ali Khan appealing for assistance in procuring English muskets for the imminent war. He urged the Jagirdar to “gain over” as many Hindu rajas and Muslim jagirdars as possible to aid in the campaign. According to Khaderi, Rasul Khan described the kinds of supplies he needed for his war readiness: [H]e was having a great many guns made, that he had employed some of the persons who had been employed by the Company in the manufac ture of gunpowder, that as much brimstone, lead, etc. as could be procured from his villages should be sent, and that an early answer should be sent.38

Rasul Khan had apparently sent workers from Kurnool to assist with the war preparations at the Udayagiri Hill Fort. He had also sent Pathan agents to Udayagiri to purchase from Ali Khan brimstone and lead. This he would transport on bullock carts to Kurnool.39 The testimonies of Udayagiri’s witnesses present a number of interpretive challenges. Among them is the fact that they lack any sense of chronology. They provide no dates and few clues concerning the timing of the events they describe. The June 1839 arrest of Mubariz ud-Daula, the chief coordinator of the plot, would have put an end to the entire operation being envisioned by the alleged conspirators. Most of the Udayagiri witnesses were deposed from three to seven months following his arrest. If Ali Khan were taking orders from Mubariz and communicating with him with some regularity, Mubariz’s arrest would have triggered a significant reversal in his plans. Presumably, witnesses at Udayagiri had described events that had long predated the arrest, since any such plotting afterwards would have been futile. And yet, no witness had ever referenced Mubariz’s arrest as a turning point. On the contrary, it was the Company’s discovery of the alleged secret correspondence (prior to Mubariz’s arrest), which had prompted Ali Khan and his associates to reverse their plans and destroy evidence. Several witnesses provided scant details of the means by which Ali Khan had destroyed every trace of his involvement in Mubariz’s conspiracy. 38 39

Ibid, 138. Ibid, 143–44.The interogator, however, had to supply Khaderi with Abdul Ruzzaq’s name. Ibid, 155.

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Khaderi testified that Ali Khan had kept all of his letters from Mubariz and Rasul Khan in a metal box. Upon learning that the Company had learned of these plans, Ali Khan ordered that the letters be “burned and thrown into water.”40 Khaderi claimed to have witnessed the destruction of these letters. The witness Haji Khan, however, claimed that Maulvi Mahdi had kept the letters in his home, and eventually ordered that they be rubbed to pieces in water.41 Rahamatullah similarly described how Ali Khan and his men had completely abandoned the idea of treason once the Company had come to learn of their plans. He simply stated that Ali Khan’s correspondence with Kurnool and Hyderabad “must have been destroyed.”42 Witnesses, however, made few if any references to the means by which Ali Khan had concealed or destroyed his war materials.43 Nellore officials themselves appear to have made Ali Khan’s destruction of these materials a standard explanation for the absence of physical evidence of such accumulation. A related challenge in interpreting the testimonies concerns the limitations of the memory of a given witness. This became most evident when witnesses were unable to state who was present when a seditious letter was read aloud or were unable to name accomplices to Ali Khan’s treason. Khaderi’s interrogator, seeking corroborating evidence, actually supplied him with missing details. Khaderi had mentioned that he heard the names of “several great people to the north who had agreed to furnish troops.” He said he could not recall them, but would recognize them if they were mentioned. The rest of the exchange speaks for itself: q: Was the Delhi King one of them? a: Yes, he was one. q: Was the Mysore Rajah one? a: They said he was one. q: Was the Jodhpur Rajah one and his name Mohan [Man] Singh? a: Yes. His name is Mohan [Man] Singh. q: Was the Bhopal man concerned? 40 41

42 43

Testimony of Khaderi, December 18, 1839, Appendix A, 157. Testimony of Eslamuddin or Haji Khan, December 14, 1839. Appendix A, 93. The witness Muhammed Sultan stated that the letters were kept in a box in the “western room” of the home of Maulvi Mahdi. Their burned remains were fed to his horses. Testimony of Muhammed Sultan, December 4, 1839, Appendix A, 222–24. Testimony of Rahamatullah, December 9, 1839, Appendix A, 121. Rahamatullah claimed that upon learning that the Company had discovered his plans, Ali Khan shipped away many of his war materials from the port at Ramiapatnam. He also claimed that Ali Khan’s vakils had “blown off the powder that he had manufactured.” Testimony of Rahamatullah, December 9, 1839, Appendix A, 112.

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a: Yes. He was concerned. q: Was Nasir ud Daula to give any assistance to the conspiracy? a: I do not know that Nasir ud Daula had any concern in the conspiracy, but Chandulal had inwardly given his assent. q: How do you know that Chandulal was secretly to assist? a: This was understood by letters received by Ahmed Sahib. q: Was it mentioned in those letters that Chandulal was concerned in the conspiracy and was to give assistance? a: Ahmed Sahib with letters in his hand, which he had received from Hyderabad was mentioning so to Abbas Ali Khan, that it was mentioned in the letters that Chandulal was to assist.44

The question about Nizam Nasir ud-Daula’s involvement, it appears, was weighty enough to interrupt Khaderi’s responses in the affirmative to a string of leading questions. Still, the patchiness of the information he provided cast considerable doubt on the validity of his claims. A range of factors, then, undermines what might strike us as highly substantial testimonies from close associates of Abbas Ali Khan. These include personal animosity towards Ali Khan, the absence of even approximate dates for the events described, leading questions, and, perhaps most significantly, the failure to produce physical evidence (that is, of treasonous letters or weapons) on which the investigation had leaned so heavily. As in the case of Khaderi, witnesses could only claim to have learned of the content of the letters if they happened to read them or were present when the letters were read aloud. Another factor, however, casts an additional shadow over the testimonies against Ali Khan: The more revealing of the testimonies – which cited names, details concerning weapons materials, and contacts with key conspirators – were rendered long after Nellore officials had brought their charges to the attention of Ali Khan himself and had solicited lengthy responses from him. It would not take much effort for underlings of Stonhouse at the Nellore Cutcherry to learn about these charges and circulate them across established channels of information. This would enable local opportunists to reiterate versions of these charges in order to capitalize in some way – perhaps by earning favor with the Company – on the demise of the Jagirdar. A brief examination of Stonhouse’s earlier exchanges with Ali Khan provides insights into the kinds of information that would have been circulated.

44

Ibid, 147–48.

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Ali Khan Speaks The Company’s initial enquiries into Ali Khan’s alleged treason occurred as far back as February 1839, when officials had arrested a group of Arabs at Nellore (described in Chapter 1). Shortly thereafter, Stonhouse had accused Ali Khan of routinely hosting “suspicious foreigners” and aiding them in their seditious designs.45 Claiming also that Ali Khan and was using Udayagiri’s Hill Fort to produce and store weapons, Stonhouse ordered his men – under the direction of his assistant, a Mr. Purviz – to search the Hill Fort for evidence of warlike preparations, not unlike the inspections that were conducted at Kurnool. Ali Khan fully complied with the inspections. He was convinced that the inspections should allay all suspicions on the part of the government. Eventually, though, he pleaded with Stonhouse to desist from sending more inspectors, as their repeated visits were tarnishing his reputation. His financial resources were hardly enough to meet the expenses of managing his jagir; how, then, he reasoned, could he possibly employ a huge team of skilled workers to manufacture war materials?46 Ali Khan also described his role in hosting foreigners as an expression of hospitality that was fully transparent to Company authorities: You may perhaps entertain suspicion by the resort of travelers to me from foreign countries. Such persons must come to my place either by land or sea. If they come they must pass through the Company’s territory and not otherwise. Such persons may be seized and searched everywhere by the Company’s authorities, and if there be any document of mine then fault may attach to me. People in the world constantly go to different countries to earn a subsistence either by service trade or charity. If such persons come to my place I am following the practice of my ancestors by giving them something from what providence has given me. If this also is displeasing to the Company I am ready to do as I am ordered. The Mussalman Govern ment and the Company have always treated me with respect. I am the only Mussalman under your authority and I hope that you will keep favor on me and treat me with respect.47

Stonhouse’s inquiries into Ali Khan’s alleged treason persisted through the summer months. In response to the alarm created by his reports, the Company appointed a Special Commissioner, G.J. Cassamajor, to investigate 45 46 47

Authorities at Udayagiri deposed the first witness, Kalachukram Lutchmiah on September 17, 1839. Translation of a letter from the Udayagiri Jagirdar to the Principal Collector of Nellore received on March 14, 1839. IOR F/4/1876, File 79782 (Appendix H), 170–72. Ibid.

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Ali Khan’s crimes. In a letter dated September 4, Cassamajor enumerated all of the charges he was bringing against him. In addition to those already mentioned, he charged Ali Khan’s sons, Ghous Sahib and Ali Hussein (who were never deposed) with overseeing operations at the Hill Fort and cited recent repairs to houses to the Fort as evidence of Ali Khan’s military planning.48 Based on scattered reports from various deponents, Cassamajor enumerated the quantity and scale of saltpeter, brimstone, lead, and other materials that Ali Khan had allegedly acquired.49 These details he compiled into a sizeable, separate report with the following headings: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8.

General and miscellaneous including correspondence w/ Hyderabad, Kurnool and other places. Appendix A. Arms materials – saltpeter, brimstone, lead, copper, iron. Appendix B. Gunpowder – C Destruction of gunpowder, etc. when there was a danger of discovery. D Manufacture of firearms and balls – E. Account of firearms and balls discovered – F. Preparations made by Ally Hussein (Hoosain) – the Ex-Jagirdar’s son – to resist the 2 Companies of sepoys who were sent to take possession of the Droog in September last. G Storing of Grain at Udayagiri – H.50

Much of this elaborate compilation appears to have been derived from sales sheets of regional dealers of these materials. In most instances, the items enumerated bore no clear relationship to Ali Khan’s activities. So obscure and inconsequential were the findings concerning war materials (points 2–3, 5–6 above) that none of them were included in the evidence that he had sent to Madras for the consideration of Governor John Elphinstone. Only the content of Appendix A (point 1, whose interviews are discussed above) was shown to be sound enough to warrant Elphinstone’s consideration. The enumeration of saltpeter, lead, etc. in points 2–3 was conveniently followed by a highly speculative description of the “destruction of gunpowder, etc.” in point 4, to help explain its absence. Unlike the enquiries at Kurnool, which turned up huge quantities of war materials, authorities at Udayagiri found sparse evidence of military 48

49 50

In June 1939, Stonhouse urged the government to consider Aminuddin’s findings and recommendations, which included an enquiry into the conduct of Ghous Sahib. From the Principal Collector at Nellore. TNA No. 143 (Secret), June 11, 1839, 1913. Cassamajor to Sayyid Abbas Ali Khan, Jagirdar of Udayagiri, dated September 4, 1839. IOR F/4/ 1878, File 79789, 334. This compilation of material evidence is contained in Appendices A-H of IOR F/4/1879, File 79790.

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accumulation at the Hill Fort. Cassamajor and Stonhouse were compelled to conclude that Ali Khan had concealed or destroyed his stockpiles upon learning of Purviz’s initial visit.51 Ali Khan’s case for his innocence ranged from profuse expressions of his respect for and loyalty to the Company to pointing out the implausibility of the charges brought against him. Convinced that some enemy of his was inventing these false allegations, he maintained hope that he would soon clear his name in a formal, court setting – a privilege that was not extended to him.52 Quite often, he pointed to the sheer absurdity of believing that his allegedly treasonous activities could escape the Company’s detection. A case in point was the claim that he had increased the size of his army: If I had collected 1000 foot and 500 persons of a superior class, some of whom are troopers, where did they come from and where have they gone? Why did not the Aumils [revenue agents] and the police officers of [the] Government apprehend them; and especially why did not the Police Naick of Udayagiri and the Head of Police of Caligiri report it and why did they not get them confined? Out of them let it be proved that at least 200 or even 100 armed persons have been in my service.53

Ali Khan’s responses to other allegations were less rhetorical and more nuanced in their tone. He stated, for instance, “there has been no regular correspondence with Mubariz ud-Daula up to this day.” If there had been, he contended, it would have easily been discovered by the Hyderabad Resident and other officials. Presumably, he was intermittently in contact with Mubariz, but in this instance did not bother to explain what this communication concerned.54 Ali Khan described his relationship with Kurnool’s Rasul Khan as a contentious one. On one occasion, a brother of Rasul Khan, Yusuf Khan, who had been on bad terms with him, fled Kurnool with the intention of complaining about him to Company authorities. His itinerary took him to Udayagiri, where Ali Khan supplied him with funds. Rasul Khan sent his servants to Udayagiri to seize Yusuf Khan; but before they could do so, Ali Khan had turned him over to authorities at Nellore. Because of this, he claimed, Rasul Khan entertained a “hearty enmity” towards him.55 51 52 53 54

55

Cassamajor to Sayyid Abbas Ali Khan, September 4, 1839, 332. Response of Sayyid Abbas Ali Khan, n/d but before September 10, 1839. IOR F/4/1878, File 79789, 343. Ibid, 358. In the margins of his translated letter is a note indicating that Ali Khan had used the Hindi word “silsila,” which literally means continuous, as with a chain. This was translated as “regular.” Response of Ali Khan, 344. Ibid, 346.

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Ali Khan also explained why in April 1837 he had sent three elephants to Kurnool, a matter that had been widely cited as evidence of his close alliance with the Kurnool Nawab.56 He argued that far from demonstrating an alliance, the transaction demonstrated his contentious relationship with Rasul Khan. Ali Khan had entrusted an agent of his, Shaikh Ahmed, with the task of selling three elephants to anyone interested.57 The agent happened to take the elephants on a road that passed through Kurnool. There, he claimed, Rasul Khan seized the elephants and refused to pay for them.58 Ali Khan noted that authorities in Cuddapah, Bellary and Nellore at the time had learned about this event in the sense in which he had described it. The following year, T.L. Blane, one of the Kurnool Commissioners, confirmed Ali Khan’s portrayal of his relations with Kurnool by providing a similar account of the elephant sale. Blane had deposed Shaikh Ahmed, who told him that Rasul Khan had bargained for the elephants at a price of 7,000 rupees. The Nawab paid him an initial 1500 rupees, but over the following years refused to pay the balance despite Ahmed’s persistent demands. Blane concluded that there was “considerable reason to doubt whether any written communications ever passed between the Nawab of Kurnool and the Udayagiri Jagirdar.”59 On the contrary, the relationship between the two men, according to Blane, was one of enmity – a weighty declaration considering the claims of Nellore officials that Ali Khan was the chief arms provider for Rasul Khan. Ali Khan attempted to dispel suspicions concerning new developments at the Hill Fort by describing them as routine repairs that were long overdue. Cassamajor, for instance, had mentioned, “four buildings were found either new or lately thoroughly repaired.”60 Somehow, he had construed this as evidence of military preparation. To this Ali Khan explained that the buildings were needed to host visitors on extremely hot days, or to house the Company’s gentlemen when they came to the Hill Fort for shikar, 56

57

58 59 60

To the Secretary to the government in the Secret Department, Fort St. George, IOR F/4/1875, File 79779, 39. Also, IOR F/4/1879, File 79790, 43. See also the testimony of Narasingharao, described in the early part of this chapter. Note, however, that Narasingharao claimed to have been the one who sold the elephants at Kurnool and to have passed on three Persian letters. It is unclear whether Shaikh Ahmed is the same person as Ahmed Sahib, the Hyderabad vakil. Ali Khan, who referred to his agent as an “ungrateful fellow,” preferred to use the designation “Shaikh.” Other Udayagiri witnesses used “Ahmed Sahib.” Quite likely, this was the same person. This pattern of purchasing merchandise and making only a partial payment fits the description of others who complained about the Nawab. See Chapter 3. Letter from Blane to G.I. Cassamajor, Commissioner of Nellore. IOR F/4/1879, File 79790, 510. Cassamajor to Ali Khan, September 4, 1839, 334.

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or hunting. He repaired a door and a gate to one of the buildings, he explained, to keep tigers and cheetahs from entering spaces occupied by residents of the Hill Fort.61 A crucial point on which Ali Khan contested the allegations of Nellore officials concerns his ties to Shaikh Abdullah, one of the Arabs arrested at Nellore. Officials alleged that Ali Khan’s son, Ghous Sahib, had sent a letter to Nellore’s Head of Police, Aminuddin Khan offering him two hundred rupees and a black horse in exchange for the release of Shaikh Abdullah.62 The letter did not appear to have contained treasonous content, but Cassamajor nevertheless construed it as such: That letter is now before me. The seal has been identified as Ghous Sahib’s and there appears no reason to doubt the genuineness of the letter. It contains several mysterious expressions and allusions, which scarcely admit of any but a treasonable construction, and it is impossible to suppose that it was sent without your orders or at least your cognizance.63

Whether or not Cassamajor was bluffing concerning his actual possession of the letter is uncertain. As with all other references to “seditious correspondence” in this investigation, this letter was talked about but not quoted or produced. Ali Khan claimed that Shaikh Abdullah had reached Udayagiri after having been detained and interrogated twice during his travels.64 When Shaikh Abdullah came through Udayagiri, Ali Khan assisted him with shelter and money as he would any other Muslim in need. After an unspecified period, he sent him on his way to Nellore accompanied by a vakil (agent or representative) to assist him on account of his inability to speak Hindustani.65 Upon reaching Nellore, Shaikh Abdullah spent some time at the vakil’s home. He told the vakil that since police had stopped 61

62

63 64

65

Even Mr. Purvis, he noted, had encountered a cheetah during one of his visits. Response of Sayyid Abbas Ali Khan, n/d but before September 10, 1839. IOR F/4/1878, File 79789, 353–55. See Purvis’s response to Ali Khan’s claims. Authorities devoted no small amount of attention in discovering the whereabouts of this horse. E.J. Elliot, the Superintendent of Police at Madras referred to an intercepted letter addressed to Aminuddin Khan, which placed the horse at the home house of Akber Pasha. TNA No. 139 (Secret), March 5, 1839, 419. Cassamajor to Abbas Ali Khan, September 4, 1839, 333–34. At least one of these interrogations was before Aminuddin. According to Stonhouse, Shaikh Abdullah stated in his second interrogation that he had already told Aminuddin all that he knows. It is not clear whether the vakil in question was Ahmed Sahib or not. Regarding Shaikh Abdullah, Stonhouse claimed that he was proficient in Hindustani. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 71. To this, Ali Khan responded that he had acted on what Shaikh Abdullah claim at the time that he did not know Hindustani.

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him numerous times, he was in need of a passport to allow him to travel to Madras without further harassment. The vakil then sent a letter to Aminuddin, purportedly requesting a passport for Shaikh Abdullah. This letter could not have offered him a bribe for his release, since Shaikh Abdullah was not in confinement at the time. According to Abbas Ali Khan, Aminuddin capitalized on these circumstances in order to act on a long-standing grudge he had held against him. The grudge traces back to an incident, in which Aminuddin and the Assistant Collector, W.E. Jellicoe, had traveled to Udayagiri to investigate a crime involving a missing diamond (discussed below). Apparently, Ali Khan owed Jellicoe a sum of two hundred rupees from this earlier encounter. This history, Ali Khan claimed, formed the basis of Aminuddin’s convoluted rendition of what had transpired. Anticipating Aminuddin’s intention of using the vakil’s letter (the one requesting a passport for Shaikh Abdullah) to incriminate him and Ali Khan, the vakil attempted to go directly to Stonhouse to provide him with a firsthand account of the situation. Aminuddin, however, reached Stonhouse first. By this time, Aminuddin had developed a close rapport with Stonhouse as a key informant in the investigation of the Wahhabi conspiracy. He was able to convince Stonhouse that Ali Khan and the vakil had “secreted” Shaikh Abdullah and were involved with Arabs and other “foreigners” in plotting treason. Ali Khan spared no words in identifying Aminuddin Khan as the chief agent of the malicious accusations being made about him: From that time in consequence of the Collector’s favor having increased towards the Busti Amin, he began to give strength to the villainy. Some circumstances about this Busti Amin might have been known to you. From the time of the Nabob, this Busti Amin’s forefathers have been doing such things.66

Aminuddin was the son of the Head Qazi of Nellore. He would have been well informed about the spread of Wahhabism in the District. If his father’s role were anything like that of the Qazi deployed by Nizam Nasir ud-Daula at Hyderabad, he would have positioned himself in opposition to the movement. Aminuddin’s reputation as a wily and corrupt official is widely noted in testimonies collected in the investigation. At least for a time, however, it did not prevent Stonhouse and Cassamajor from leaning heavily on his services. 66

The “busti amin” literally refers to a native official employed by a court or in some other official capacity. Here it clearly refers to Aminuddin Khan. The “nabob” most likely refers to Abdul Khader Khan Bahadur, Ali Khan’s father, from whom he inherited the jagir. Response of Ali Khan, 353.

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Cutcherry Politics The power that a subordinate officer such as Aminuddin could wield in the investigation of the Wahhabi conspiracy can only be appreciated in connection to the central role of the colonial cutcherry. This was the administrative office, which governed British ruled districts in India.67 Within the context of the cutcherry, fine details of interpersonal conflicts could attach themselves to matters commanding the attention of higher echelons of colonial power. A discussion of this highly influential establishment provides a vital backdrop to a counter-narrative, which explains Ali Khan’s demise. In his classic study of local influence in Guntur District, Robert Frykenberg described the “labyrinth” of offices comprising the cutcherry, making it the “hub of district power”: The Cutcherry was the instrument, which received and transmitted com munications, which digested, recorded, and preserved information, and which conveyed and implemented decisions from above and channeled or resolved disputes and petitions from below. The entire fiscal, police, and general administration was organized within its departments.68

By extension, the cutcherry also presided over the implementation of justice in local courts of law. In light of its ubiquitous influence, the cutcherry is often referred to as the “nerve center” of colonial administration in India. This revealing metaphor speaks not only to the cutcherry’s connectivity to wider administrative circles but also to the passing of intelligence across layers of personnel, which staffed the colonial bureaucracy. The affairs of the cutcherry were largely centered on the role of the Principal Collector, who was responsible for collecting land rents. Faced with overwhelming responsibilities, the Collector delegated many daily tasks to a chief revenue secretary known as the Huzur Sheristadar. In light of the hands-on nature of the Huzur Sheristadar’s work and his ability to communicate with village heads in their local dialects, this high-ranking 67

68

For colonial accounts of cutcherry affairs within British-ruled districts, see J.H. Harrington, Minute and Draft Regulation of the Rights of Ryots in Bengal (Calcutta: Government, 1827), Reginald Sterndale, An Historical Account of the Calcutta Collectorate, Collector Cutcherry, or Calcutta Pottah Office (Calcutta: West Bengal Government Press, 1959), and Henry Davidson Love, Vestiges of Old Madras, 1640–1800 (London: John Murray, 1913). The office was also central to the administration of princely states. For a useful etymology of the term in connection to the administration of Mysore, see the report of Major C. Elliot, Ashtagram division to L.B. Bowring, Commissioner of Mysore in Accounts and Papers of the House of Commons, Biluchistan, Coimbatore, Deccan Riots, Mysore, Session January 17–August 16, 1878, Vol. 58; 63–65. Ibid, 76.

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Indian officer often became the real administrator of a district.69 The duties tied to assessing and collecting rents from large numbers of taluks (units of revenue collection) and keeping careful records of the same required considerable staffing. A range of subordinate agents including accountants (carnams), translators (dubashes), writers (munshis) as well as a team of local police assisted with these tasks. Indians hailing from particular caste communities tended to fill the ranks of these occupations.70 Frykenberg describes how recruitment, appointments and promotions within the cutcherry were riddled with inter-caste rivalry, nepotism, and layers of corruption.71 In addition to bribery, corruption could take the form of spreading incriminating rumors or innuendo, or falsifying evidence concerning the alleged crimes of others.72 So pervasive was the issue of corruption that Thomas Munro, the Governor of Madras (1820–27), had enacted reforms aimed at increasing the powers of the Collector and Sheristadar, along with their key subordinates.73 English Collectors and their highest subordinates, however, were by no means immune to these dynamics. The accusations brought against Abbas Ali Khan were framed in terms of his involvement (as a weapons dealer and manufacturer) in a global conspiracy. Beneath the broad strokes of these accusations, however, were transactions within the Nellore Cutcherry centered on the Cotwal (Head of Police) Aminuddin Khan.74 Aminuddin had held two offices in the Nellore Cutcherry before Stonhouse promoted him to Head of Police. He served for a time as the Head Munshi (in this instance, a translator) and prior to that, as tahlsidar (a lower ranking revenue collector) at Nellore. After Stonhouse had arrested the Arabs traveling through Nellore, Aminuddin became involved in their interrogation. Stonhouse lauded Aminuddin’s exemplary loyalty and skill at ferreting information from detainees. “I think 69 70

71 72

73 74

Robert Frykenberg, Guntur District, 1788–1848: A History of Local Influence and Central Authority in South India (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1965), 77. Bhavani Raman’s study of scribal communities in South India describes the prominence of Deccani and Tamil Brahmins, Vellalars, and other highly literate communities in cutcherry offices. See Raman, Document Raj: Writing and Scribes in Early Colonial South India (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012), 46–49. Frykenberg, Guntur District, 83. An early account of corrupt practices of the local courts at Benares is provided in Paunchkouree Khan, The Revelations of an Orderly: Being an attempt to expose the abuses of administration by the relation of every-day occurrences in the mofussil courts (Benares: J. Lazarus & Co., 1866). Raman, Document Raj, 45. This individual played a key role in extracting information about the conspiracy from detainees and implicating Abbas Ali Khan in its core operations. Strikingly absent from earlier accounts of the Deccan’s Wahhabi conspiracy are any references to Aminuddin’s pivotal and controversial role.

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few persons,” he wrote, “could have managed so skillfully as [Aminuddin Khan] has done and to whom the entire credit is due, as it is in respect to most of the information, which has been elicited from those who have been arrested.”75 For a time, Aminuddin appeared to be using his identity as a Muslim to help the Company incriminate those whom they branded “Wahhabis.” By pretending to be dissatisfied with his employment with the Company, he was able to win the trust of detainees and elicit valuable information about their plans. On at least two occasions, alleged conspirators are reported to have attempted to bribe him into joining their ranks.76 Considerable evidence suggests that Aminuddin’s claims about declining bribes were part of his clever scheme of earning Stonhouse’s favor. By crafting such narratives, he was able to sell himself to Stonhouse as a loyal Muslim whom he could entrust with power and access to information. Aminuddin used his position of influence to manufacture the charges that Stonhouse brought against Abbas Ali Khan. One account of his maneuvering is found in a pamphlet published by the family of Ali Khan long after his death. The aim of the pamphlet was to set the historical record straight concerning the demise of their “esteemed ancestor.”77 Because of its explicit bias, this source must no doubt be handled critically. The pamphlet, however, provides information about Aminuddin and other personalities within the Nellore Cutcherry, which are absent in official accounts of Nellore’s administrative history. When examined alongside other archival materials, this family history lends considerable weight to the claim made by Smollett that the government had, for its own reasons, falsely accused the Jagirdar of treason. According to this family account, a reputed jeweler named Muhammed Khan Kabuli and his son had come to Udayagiri from a foreign land (presumably Kabul) and enjoyed Abbas Ali Khan’s patronage for a time. The son, aged twenty, had developed a reputation as a womanizer and went so far as to pursue relations with a slave woman who resided within 75 76

77

Stonhouse to Clerk, April 7, 1839. Extract Fort St. George Consultation of April 16, 1839. IOR F/4/ 1876, File 79781, 238. According to Stonhouse, one such written appeal to Aminuddin read, “You are a Mussalman and the son of a Qazi. You must not spoil the business of Mussalmen. The Prophet has said whoever is a Mussalman, all Mussalmen must be safe at his hand and mouth, therefore you must deliver up Shaikh Abdullah. You must be so good as to take care that no suspicion shall attach to me, and you must take care that the secret is not divulged. Take care, this is a matter in which your religion is concerned.” Memorandum. IOR F/4/1876, File 79780, 225. A Brief Sketch of the History of Udayagiri, compiled from the family records of Syud Abbas Ali Khan Bahadur, the last Jaghirdar of Udayagiri (Nellore: Sri Ranganaiki Vilasum Press, 1898), 2.

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Ali Khan’s palace complex. For this, Ali Khan’s sons seized the boy and “soundly thrashed him.”78 This event set off a series of false allegations. Muhammed Khan Kabuli reported to Stonhouse that Ali Khan’s sons had stolen from his son a diamond of great value. When Stonhouse sent his assistant, Mr. Jellicoe and another attendant, V. Venakatarao to conduct a thorough search of his palace for the diamond, it incensed Ali Khan, particularly because Stonhouse was lending so much credibility to Kabuli, a man of far “inferior rank.”79 In a letter to Stonhouse, Ali Khan decried the dishonor to which the inspectors had subjected him. Stonhouse responded by emphasizing that all were equal in the eyes of the law: I have known you for a long time, but in administering justice it is necessary that we should deal with people according to law without regard to their rank or dignity . . . You are to understand that when persons are implicated in a charge of this nature search is the proper means of finding out the truth and removing suspicion, but it will not bring dishonor on them. Persons of distinction when accused in this way are generally willing to clear their character by suffering their houses to be searched, but they would by no means refuse such a measure.80

The irony of this homily on the rule of law becomes most striking when examining Stonhouse’s complicity in the corruption that would later cloud his investigation. Moreover, his search of Ali Khan’s palace set in motion a series of events that ultimately placed Ali Khan in prison. Since Jellicoe was ignorant of Indian languages, Stonhouse assigned Aminuddin to mediate this unresolved matter concerning the diamond. Aminuddin used this role as an opportunity to extort money from Abbas Ali Khan. When Ali Khan refused to pay him, Aminuddin told Jellico that Ali Khan was planning to murder him, a threat that prompted Stonhouse to press charges against Ali Khan in Nellore’s Sessions Court and imprison a number of his officers. A sympathetic judge, however, acquitted Ali Khan of all charges and reprimanded Stonhouse for making frivolous allegations.81 Embarrassed by the ordeal, Stonhouse grew more hostile toward Ali Khan, as did his officer, Aminuddin. Aminuddin proceeded to invent the story of Abbas Ali Khan’s arms manufacturing, his collaboration with Mubariz ud-Daula and Ghulam 78 80 81

79 A Brief Sketch of the History of Udayagiri, 10. A Brief Sketch of the History of Udayagiri, 18. Stonhouse to Abbas Ali Khan, dated December 26, 1836. In A Brief Sketch of the History of Udayagiri, 11. A Brief Sketch of the History of Udayagiri, 13.

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Rasul Khan, and his intention to murder all Europeans at Nellore. He also forged letters in Persian, which disclosed Ali Khan’s treasonous designs. In one such letter, Ali Khan threatened to enlist the support of “Arabs from Northern Hindustan, Mecca, and Iran” should the Collector take any action against him.82 Upon being presented to Stonhouse as “having been secured from secret emissaries,” Stonhouse became more and more convinced of Abbas Ali Khan’s guilt.83 He sent inspectors to the Udayagiri Hill Fort to conduct inspections with Abbas Ali Khan’s full compliance.84 The family account of Ali Khan’s demise sheds light on two developments at Udayagiri, which can be corroborated with other evidence. The first is Aminuddin’s reputation as a corrupt subordinate and a schemer. He earned this reputation not only by implicating Ali Khan in the conspiracy but also by identifying Nellore’s Huzur Sheristadar, Ramanja Rao as an active accomplice. Aminuddin claimed that Ramanja Rao was providing cover for Ali Khan’s operations and had offered Aminuddin a bribe to enlist him in the cause of aiding the Jagirdar.85 Aminuddin appears repeatedly to have portrayed himself as a fiercely loyal servant of the Company who resisted the overtures of the Company’s enemies. Somehow, this self portrayal managed to persuade both Stonhouse and Cassamajor into prosecuting anyone Aminuddin had identified as an enemy of the state. Having fully bought in to Aminuddin’s narrative, Cassamajor charged Ramanja Rao with the “high misdemeanor” of violating his public duty by “endeavoring to seduce Aminuddin Khan, Talsidar of Nellore from his fidelity to the Government.”86 Fearing that Ramanja Rao could continue to aid the conspirators, they imprisoned him for four months in virtual solitary confinement before granting him a hearing for his alleged crimes.87 Unlike the more serious charges brought against Ali Khan, the charge against Ramanja Rao resulted in a massively documented trial. Its lengthy 82 84

86 87

83 Ibid, 17. Ibid, 15. After the brazen search of his palace by Jellicoe, Ali Khan experienced the visits of the inspectors as a further insult to his dignity, especially considering his decades of faithful service to the Company. He insisted that clerks working under Stonhouse were responsible for fabricating claims that he was amassing weapons to attack the Company and expressed the long-standing desire of his family to enjoy their jagir in perpetuity. Never did they expect that Stonhouse “would subject [them] to shame and infamy.” 85 Ibid, 16. Ibid. Extract, Fort St. George Consultation of October 15, 1839, by the Commissioner. IOR F/4/1877, File 79784, 100. A Brief Sketch of the History of Udayagiri, 17.

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examinations, embroiled as they were in vague minutia of cutcherry gossip, turned up no concrete evidence of wrongdoing on the part of Ramanja Rao. As a result, he was eventually acquitted. Most witnesses were employees of the Nellore Cutcherry or employed in some other capacity by the Company. Several witnesses alleged that Ramanja Rao had filled their minds with fear that Aminuddin was speaking ill of them to the Collector.88 Ramanja Rao emerges in their narrations as someone who promised to set the record straight about them by confronting Aminuddin. For this to happen, they were asked to bring Aminuddin to his home. At that time, Ramanja Rao would bribe Aminuddin to join the cause of Udayagiri’s Jagirdar. In his own testimony, Ramanja Rao stressed his flawless record of service at Nellore. On account of his performance, it was Stonhouse who recommended that he be appointed Huzur Sheristadar. The charges against him, he contended, originated with a disgruntled employee, Venkatagovinda Rao, who developed close ties to Aminuddin. For some unnamed reason, Stonhouse had removed Venkatagovinda Rao from his role as Head Munshi. He demoted him (though, with the same pay) to the Sheristadar’s office, where he worked under Ramanja Rao. Convinced that Ramanja Rao was the cause of his demotion, Venkatagovinda Rao sought revenge.89 He found in Aminuddin an ally possessing the skills and status needed to bring down the Sheristadar. Together they spread false rumors about Ramanja Rao among other employees. In court, Ramanja Rao denied having bribed Aminuddin into serving Ali Khan’s cause. He insisted that his ties to the Jagirdar were strictly related to the collection of rents: I speak sometimes to his vakils in the Cutcherry on business relating to his paying the sircar [government] money and other sircar business with reference to the Principal Collector’s orders and my own situation in like manner as I speak to the vakils of other zamindars in regard to their paying their kists etc. But there is no other concern between him and me. There is not such a friendship between me and the Udayagiri Jagirdar for me to tell Aminuddin to assist the Jagirdar nor did I hear of what was going on before the Collector through Aminuddin Khan in regard to the circumstance of the Udayagiri Jagirdar or the nature of it. I did not send for Aminuddin to my house to speak to him on account of the Jagirdar or on [any] other account nor did I speak to him. Had I heard from anyone that the Jagirdar 88 89

See, for instance, the examination of Mahomed Hussein (alias Baba Sahib), IOR F/4/1877, File 79784, 102–20. Defense of Ramanja Rao before G.I. Cassamajor. IOR F/4/1877, File 79784, 742–46.

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intended to do anything contrary to his fidelity to the sircar, I would have informed the Collector immediately of it myself.90

Ramanja Rao concluded his lengthy testimony with a barrage of attacks on Aminuddin. These were largely centered on his habit of making false claims about others, including a history of perjuring himself in court and forging documents. He cited an 1836 lawsuit in the Nellore District Court in which he was shown to have forged a document.91 Moreover, Ramanja Rao decried the special favor that Stonhouse had extended to Aminuddin. “No one,” he noted, “is allowed to go to the Cutcherry where the gentlemen sit nor are there any people belonging to me who wait at the Cutcherry.” Stonhouse, however, routinely gave Aminuddin special access to his quarters to speak with him privately.92 After Ramanja Rao was shown to be innocent of high misdemeanor, he was restored to the office of Huzur Sheristadar. Well before this, Venkatagovinda Rao, once an accomplice to Aminuddin’s schemes, had grown jealous of the power his crafty ally was acquiring at the Cutcherry. He eventually came forward to disclose to Stonhouse all of the lies he and Aminuddin had told about Ramanja Rao. He also informed Stonhouse of Aminuddin’s role in forging incriminating letters about Ali Khan, which placed the Jagirdar at the center of a global, anti-British conspiracy. According to the family account, Stonhouse did not charge Aminuddin with perjury, but simply “degraded him to an insignificant clerkship,” where he “[sank] into obscurity.”93 What becomes increasingly evident in the affairs at Udayagiri is the willingness of Stonhouse and Cassamajor to proceed against Ali Khan even after learning about the storm of misinformation created by Aminuddin. Given the premium these officials had placed on written correspondence, one might imagine the discovery of forged letters to have tempered their zeal, but this was not the case. Proving forgery, after all, is no easy matter. In May 1839, Stonhouse had intercepted nineteen letters passing from Bellary to Udayagiri. Some of these letters addressed “trivial” matters that, he was convinced, were designed to conceal the more important points concerning treasonous plots. The trivial matters in question concerned a wedding between the daughter of a mufti (an expert in Islamic law) from Bellary and the grandson of Abbas Ali Khan at Udayagiri. 90 92

Defense of Ramanja Rao before G.I. Cassamajor. IOR F/4/1877, File 79784, 763. 93 Ibid, 809. A Brief Sketch of the History of Udayagiri, 21.

91

Ibid, 764.

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Letters concerning the wedding arrangements passed back and forth between the two venues.94 Buried in this stack of nineteen letters, however, Stonhouse found two Persian letters with “suspicious” content. In each of them, the writer declares the government to have “discovered their secrets” and that the man responsible for this is none other than Aminuddin Khan. Here again, Aminuddin emerges as one who had resisted the bribes and cunning of conspirators and divulged their plans to the Company. At the same time, however, he is identified as having falsely accused Ramanja Rao of taking bribes: This awkward affair has come to pass by the treacherous Aminuddin and many plans have been laid to inflict punishment on him, but these have not been successful as he has never fallen into our net. I am now determined to destroy him root and branch, but am much alarmed at these letters being discovered and our secrets brought to light. . . . The Sheristadar of this place too, who was aiding us, has been groundlessly accused by the cursed Aminuddin of receiving bribes . . .95 (italics added)

The dating of this letter, roughly February 25, 1839 corresponds to the timing of the arrests of the Arab men at Nellore – clearly a time when talk of a conspiracy was going public. If Aminuddin was in fact the author of this letter, he cleverly made Ramanja Rao an accomplice to the conspiracy (the weightier issue), while also noting that he had been falsely accused of taking bribes. The problem with this scenario is that the only bribe in question was Ramanja Rao’s attempt to bribe Aminuddin into joining Ali Khan’s treasonous cause. This was the only basis for the Company’s belief in Ramanja Rao’s involvement in the conspiracy. Both assertions – one maintaining his culpability in treason, the other his innocence regarding bribes – could not be true. The other letter was attributed to Abbas Ali Khan and follows a similar structure to the first. It identifies Aminuddin as having resisted Ali Khan’s overtures to join the conspirators. It also presents Ramanja Rao as having supplied Ali Khan with adequate cover for his role: Our intentions have been made public by some foolish people and have been got hold of by our enemies. They were communicated to the Collector by one [Aminuddin], an apostate from his religion. . . . All the artifices 94 95

Stonhouse to Robert Clerk, Secretary to the Government [of Madras], May 6, 1839. IOR F/4/1878, File 79789, 2–3. Translation of a [Persian] letter from Razdar Khan Sahib Dhactorey, dated 25th of Sufar [roughly February 25, 1839]. A note appears in this heading, which reads “Razdar Khan is a Pathan name but likewise signifies the confidante or secret keeper.” IOR F/4/1878, File 79789, 38–39. C.P. Brown, the Persian translator for the Company, translated this letter.

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I have used to make him join me have proved fruitless. He has not been caught in my snare. His name therefore will now be rooted out of the earth. But I am exceedingly sorry for the letter having been intercepted and that the secret matters have been disclosed. By the letters written by Ghous Sahib it is understood that the Collector has written to Government respecting this case. . . . I have also written to the Bundaganee Ali [Added in the margins: “either the Nizam or Mubariz ud Daula”]. The person who was assisting me and who was my protector, the Sheristadar, has been unjustly accused and arrested for having received bribes, owing to the trickery of that bad man, [Aminuddin].96

In his communication with authorities at Madras, Stonhouse acknowledged the possibility that the above letters could have been forgeries – a suggestion that Madras authorities had made initially. At the same time, he was baffled by the very idea of someone directing these letters to him.97 This moment of critical reflection on his “evidence” proved to be a fleeting one. He and Cassamajor proceeded with the investigation with unaltered zeal, an investigation that ultimately cost Ali Khan his jagir and life.

Conclusion This chapter has described layers of intrigue associated with the demise of Shah Abbas Ali Khan. As in the case of Kurnool, developments at Udayagiri were essentially driven by local factors, but viewed as one component of a global, anti-British conspiracy. The investigation of Ali Khan’s alleged treason gave rise to two competing narratives: The first was an official narrative, which legitimated the Company’s decision to imprison Ali Khan and acquire his jagir. This drew on evidence derived from inspections of the Hill Fort, testimonies of local witnesses (many of whom were employed by Ali Khan), and oral references to seditious correspondence. By drawing attention to this official narrative, I am by no means suggesting that the perspectives of Company officials were monolithic. Liberal voices within the colonial administration consistently interrogated the evidence touted by men such as Stonhouse, whether by exposing its contradictions or lamenting its sparseness. Prevailing over these dissenting 96

97

In some records, Aminuddin’s name is rendered “Hamiddudin.” I have maintained one spelling for consistency. Translation of an intercepted letter from Abbas Ali Khan to Shah Mohamed Sahib, n/ d. IOR F/4/1878, File 79789, 47–48. Letter(s) from Stonhouse to Clerk, Secretary to the Government at Madras, May 27, 1839. IOR F/4/ 1878, File 79789, 79–80.

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voices, however, was an official narrative, which stressed the immanent threat to Company power being posed by the conspirators and the need for decisive intervention. The second narrative draws attention to those agents within the Nellore Cutcherry who manufactured false evidence about Ali Khan’s ties to the conspiracy in order to advance their own interests. They used their standing within the Cutcherry – the “nerve center” of colonial administration – to access information about the Wahhabi threat and the Company’s interventions at Nellore, Hyderabad, and Kurnool. Knowledge of these wider developments enabled employees such as Aminuddin Khan to portray Ali Khan as a participant in seditious plots and networks. One might imagine the absence of physical evidence of Ali Khan’s weapons manufacturing or seditious correspondence to have significantly undermined the case against him. Paradoxically, the absence of such evidence appears to have catalyzed a creative, imaginative impulse among local entrepreneurs who invented a story of Ali Khan’s global ties to British enemies. Three lessons can be gleaned from demise of Udayagiri’s Jagirdar. The first has to do with the relationship between flows of information and the exercise of power. In the absence of concrete evidence of Ali Khan’s collaboration with Mubariz ud-Daula or Ghulam Rasul Khan, it was the passing of information between Udayagiri and Hyderabad, which made speculation about such collaboration possible. Ahmed Sahib, Ali Khan’s vakil at Hyderabad, acted as a conduit for the dissemination of names, events, and ideas. His role in facilitating these links to Hyderabadi notables is described by Rahamatullah and Mustapha Ali Khan. Maulvi Mahdi also appears to be the only person who facilitated ties between Udayagiri and anything that could be labeled “Wahhabi.” As much as the Company would ultimately regard their testimonies as evidence of Ali Khan’s treason, they are best seen as live wires through which the discourse of Wahhabi-based sedition had infiltrated Udayagiri and Nellore and its circles of administrative power. As much as colonial law had placed a high premium on empirical evidence, officials at Nellore were content with far less than this. The mere flow of information about the conspiracy into Udayagiri was enough to inculpate Ali Khan. The second lesson, arising from both Kurnool and Udayagiri, concerns the absence of any consensus among Company officials concerning the standard of proof required to establish treason. The Kurnool Commissioner, T.L. Blane, for instance, had concluded that enmity, not collaboration, marked the relationship between Rasul Khan and Ali Khan.

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His conclusion resembles that reached by George Hutton and Duncan Malcolm at Kurnool, that Rasul Khan was target of, not a participant in a conspiracy. Even when faced with evidence of Aminuddin’s forgery and manipulation and the absence of physical evidence at the Hill Fort, Stonhouse and Cassamajor remained convinced of Ali Khan’s guilt. Voices of dissent or calls for restraint were pushed aside by men holding more alarmist views. Well after the imprisonment of Rasul Khan and Ali Khan, John Elphinstone, the Governor of Madras expressed his conviction that these men were, in fact, deeply involved in “treasonable designs.”98 Citing evidence drawn from the depositions of Rahamatullah, Mustapha Ali Khan, Shah Abdul Gunni Khaderi, and even Aminuddin Khan (all of which were discussed above), Elphinstone was convinced of the guilt of both men. He was equally convinced of his own prudence in the weighing of evidence: The conclusion, I think, is irresistible, that an understanding existed between the parties, that correspondence had been carried on, that the preparations for war on the part of the Nabob of Kurnool had the same object as those of the Udayagiri Jagirdar and that both acted in concert with other parties and were implicated in designs hostile to the British Government. Here I would also observe that I have carefully avoided making use of evidence upon which any degree of doubt has been cast and that upon this principle I have excluded the testimony of Nachipalli Narasingha Rao, which has been objected to by Mr. Blane as well as that of Mahamet Sultan Maulvi, Mahdi’s servant, and others which appear to me to be open to suspicion.99

By the time Elphinstone had issued this official Minute, Mubariz ud-Daula and forty-six Wahhabi maulvis at Hyderabad had been imprisoned, Rasul Khan had been murdered in prison, and Ali Khan and his close associates imprisoned. The Company had taken possession of Kurnool and Udayagiri and had interrogated scores of Muslims, within both Princely and Company-ruled territories. This was not a time to admit gaffes in the investigation or to introduce the possibility that the leadership of Kurnool and Udayagiri may have had no ties at all to Mubariz’s campaign. Elphinstone was compelled by his circumstances to validate the Company’s actions with emphatic pronouncements. He did so against consistent reminders that there was no documentary evidence 98 99

Minute, August 18, 1840: Enquiries at Kurnool and Udayagiri. IOR F/4/1880, File 79794, 27. Ibid, 33.

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to substantiate the roles of Ali Khan and Rasul Khan. This, he claimed, was to be expected: In the absence of the letters themselves, whose disappearance, as I have already said, is very natural and whose destruction is moreover deposed to at Udayagiri . . . we have documentary evidence of the existence of a secret correspondence and understanding between the Nabob of Kurnool and the Jagirdar of Udayagiri.100

By means of this magisterial, summative Minute of August 1840, Elphinstone had effectively excluded any alternative explanation of events. Most significantly, he excluded the possibility that local agents, for their own reasons, were willing to feed Company officials the kind of information that they sought. This account of the demise of Abbas Ali Khan would be incomplete without revisiting the views of Patrick Boyle Smollett, the former Collector at Vizagapatnam, discussed at the outset of this chapter. Not only was Smollett convinced that Ali Khan was innocent; he also claimed “[e]very inhabitant of Nellore district believes that the charges [against him] were unfounded.”101 His hindsight critique of the Company’s actions speaks favorably to the liberal commitments of Empire. Even in the absence of justice for the accused (in Ali Khan’s case, the right to a trial), liberal imperialism provided Smollett and others with a language for exposing the Company’s abuses of power and breaches of the rule of law. An article from the Bangalore Herald printed thirteen years after Ali Khan’s imprisonment paints a picture of Ali Khan’s innocence that resonates with Smollett’s account. The article describes attempts by descendants of Ali Khan to have the jagir restored to their family. It details the spurious nature of the charges brought against Ali Khan and the fact that they relied heavily on claims of those who were “in the employment of the Collector.”102 The author located Ali Khan’s story within a larger pattern of secrecy and manipulation, through which the Company was “increasing their revenue at the expense of Indian princes.”103 When it counted most, the language of due process and constraints on state power proved to be ineffective at Kurnool and Udayagiri. Because of the integration of these places into flows of information, they fell prey to 100 102

103

101 Ibid, 29. Smollett, Madras: Its Civil Administration Being Rough Notes, 76–77. “Madras: The Woodiagherry Family,” in Allen’s Indian Mail and Register for Intelligence for British and Foreign India, China and All Parts of the East, Vol. X, January – December 1852 (London: William Allen & Co., 1852), 291. Ibid.

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the paranoia that influenced decision makers and the local actors who knew how to manipulate them. Can liberal commitments to due process, the rules of evidence, and other constraints on state power be effective within a climate of fear? The following chapter addresses this question in connection to the trial of Sayyid Shah Modin Qadiri, a prominent cleric at Vellore accused of delivering seditious sermons in his mosque.

chapter 5

Slaying Men with Faces of Women The Trial of Sayyid Shah Modin Qadiri

Ali Sahib was a police peon employed at Vellore, a prominent South Indian garrison town. During the month of Ramadan in 1839, he visited a mosque located on the grounds of the huge military fort complex at Vellore. It was at that time, he claimed, that he heard a maulvi (teacher of Islamic law) denouncing the British as kafirs (infidels) and exhorting Muslims to wage jihad against them. The maulvi, Sayyid Shah Modin Qadiri came from a family of clerics who had presided over the same mosque for generations. Ali Sahib was one of twenty-nine Muslims who reported to Vellore officials that they had heard Modin’s seditious messages. He recounted being seated in Modin’s mosque amongst Muslim sepoys, government workers, and other persons of rank. He then heard what was widely referred to as Modin’s jihad wa’z (sermon or exhortation):1 There were many people present. And after prayers the Maulvi read wa’z to this effect: It is a decree of Allah that the Mussalmen are to make the [jihad] against the kafirs, that although necessity now obliges them to eat the salt of kafirs that the intention is to be kept in the heart and when the day and favorable opportunity offers them united in heart and mind, they must slay them whether these kafirs are rulers or not.2

Based on such allegations, Maulvi Modin was tried for sedition in a criminal court at Chittoor (a city located roughly sixty kilometers to the north of Vellore).3 1

2 3

Whereas the sermon itself was referred to as the wa’z, the preacher whose task it was to exhort and admonish the congregation to instill pious commitment also was known as the wa’z. Muslim witnesses at Vellore referred to Modin’s seditious sermon or message as the jihad wa’z. For a concise etymology of the term, see Julie Scott Meisami, “Oratory and Sermons,” in Meisami, Starkey (eds.), Encyclopedia of Arabic Literature, Vol. 2 (London: Routledge, 1998), 593–94. Statement of Ali Sahib, Police Peon, n/d. IOR, F/4/1877, File 79786, 55–56. The court relied on language contained in Section 113 of T.B. Macaulay’s 1837 draft of a Penal Code: “Whoever, by words, either spoken or intended to be read, or by signs, or by visible representations, attempts to excite feelings of disaffection to the government established by law in the territories of the

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Modin’s trial began in September 1839 and concluded in February the following year. During this period, rumors about the Wahhabi conspiracy and news of key arrests at Hyderabad and Nellore had circulated throughout South India. Amid these developments, Modin’s trial drew the attention of the highest levels of the Company’s administration. Authorities at Vellore accused Modin of delivering seditious sermons over the span of three years (1836–39). They also accused him of distributing a book containing vitriolic anti-British and anti-Christian passages.4 They were convinced that Modin was a Wahhabi who maintained regular contact with key conspirators at Hyderabad and hosted “suspicious travelers” from Kabul and Kandahar at his makan (home or living compound). Against this climate of fear and suspicion, judges of the Faujdari Adalat (criminal court) were remarkably measured in weighing evidence against the maulvi. A huge contributing factor was the role of the Special Commissioner who oversaw his public trial, Malcolm Lewin. A renowned critic of the Company for its abuses of power, including its use of torture to extract confessions from crime suspects, Lewin exposed numerous breaches of criminal procedure and inconsistencies in the accusations directed against Modin. Moreover, Lewin cast doubt over the very idea that a maulvi would preach seditious sermons in plain daylight to hundreds of Muslim sepoys and persons of rank in the employ of the Company. This chapter provides a detailed account of Maulvi Modin’s criminal trial, paying special attention to procedural and substantive factors that determined its outcome. The trial illustrates key aspects of liberal imperialism as it was interpreted and implemented in pre-Mutiny India. As a central ideology of the British Empire, liberalism championed, among other things, the rights and freedoms of individuals and constraints

4

East India Company, among any class of people who live under that government, shall be punished with banishment for life or for any term from the territories of the East India Company . . .” A Penal Code prepared by the Indian Law Commissioners and Published by the Command of the Governor General in Council (Calcutta: Military Orphan Press, 1837), 30. When the Penal Code was enacted in 1860, it retained much of the original language concerning sedition. It was largely in response to the Wahhabi trials of the 1860s that the government introduced Section 124-A of Chapter VI of the Penal Code (“Of Offences against the State”). The law is discussed at length in Walter Russell Donogh, A Treatise on the Law of Sedition and Cognate Offenses in British India (Calcutta: Thackel, Spink and Co., 1911), 41–101. The bulk of this discussion, however, concerns cases tried toward the turn of the twentieth century. Sparse information is to be found about the interpretation and prosecution of sedition before the Mutiny. This is largely because it predates any formal codification of sedition law. I am grateful to the sources compiled by Jeanine Cali, Law Librarian of Congress. See “Sedition Law in India,” http://blogs.loc.gov/law/2012/10/sedition-law-in-india/. According to one witness, he had been preaching sedition over the span of eight years. M. Lewin, Special Commissioner to Secretary to the Government (Political), Fort Saint George, October 12, 1839. IOR, F/4/1877, File 79786, 191–92.

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on state power. At a time when rumors of a conspiracy had placed the government in a state of high alert, Modin’s trial served as a gauge not only for measuring Muslim loyalty but also the Company’s commitment to due process and the rule of law. How would British liberal ideals, which upheld rights of the accused, be balanced with an interest in protecting the state from preachers and princes allegedly plotting jihad? Most discussions of so-called Wahhabi trials in British India are centered on the anti-Muslim climate that followed the 1857 Rebellion.5 Recently, Julie Stephens has examined the much-publicized trial of the Khan brothers, two wealthy North Indian hide merchants charged with funding jihadis fighting along India’s Northwest Frontier.6 Stephens deftly traces the shifting tide of public opinion surrounding their case as a way of gauging the ideological climate of the post-1857 era. What Stephens terms the “Phantom Wahhabi” represents colonial fears of a pervasive threat posed by radicalized Muslims. Merging “a kernel of reality with overblown paranoia,” the Phantom Wahhabi became the subject of a number of well-publicized trials in 1864 and 1865 in Patna and Ambala.7 The trials illustrate the tension between state authoritarianism and limits on state power vis-à-vis rights of habeas corpus. According to Stephens, the British did not “regularly use the label [‘Wahhabi’] to describe a distinct Indian sect posing a significant danger to their government until the 1860’s.”8 Events surrounding Modin’s trial, however, reveal how “Wahhabis” had become the focus of concerted attention on account of the potential threat they posed to the government. Modin’s trial shows how the notion of the dreaded Wahhabi was consolidated within the colonial imagination well before 1857 Rebellion. Moreover, the trial displayed a preoccupation with matters of social class, rank, patronage, and religious identity as it deliberated the question of Muslim loyalty. Scholars have typically associated such matters of identity with the “return to conservatism” that followed the Rebellion.9 At Modin’s 5

6 7 9

See, for instance, Qeyamuddin Ahmad, The Wahabi Movement in India (Calcutta: Firma K.L. Mukhopadhyay, 1966), 239–79; Peter Robb, “The Impact of British Rule on Religious Community: Reflections on the Trial of Maulvi Ahmadullah of Patna in 1865,” in Robb (ed.), Society and Ideology: Essays in South Asian History Presented to Professor K.A. Ballhatchet (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1993), 142–76; C.A. Bayly, Empire and Information: Intelligence Gathering and Social Communication in India, 1780–1870 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 338–46; and Peter Hardy, The Muslims of British India (London: Cambridge University Press, 1972), 61–91. Julie Stephens, “The Phantom Wahhabi: Liberalism and the Muslim fanatic in mid-Victorian India,” Modern Asian Studies, 47, 1 (2013), 48. 8 Ibid, 24. Ibid, 26–27. It is assumed, for instance, that liberal, transformative policies of the Company during the early nineteenth century are what caused the Rebellion, and that the Crown responded with a return to

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trial, questions of identity and patronage were central to the evaluation of the claims made against the maulvi. That is to say, they did not construe liberalism as lending itself to an objective or rational enquiry that bracketed the identities of the accused or the accusers. Far from being a sanitary, post-Enlightenment adjudication of guilt or innocence, Modin’s trial reveals the Company’s investment in a particular kind of social order maintained by means of its patronage of traditional Indian identities – a fact that softens the distinction often made between a pre1857 commitment to liberal transformation and a post-1857 return to conservatism.10 At one level, the trial appears to illustrate liberal imperialism at its best: a prominent maulvi being accorded due process under the law, even amid rumors of a Wahhabi conspiracy. Accompanying this adherence to the letter of the law, however, was a different logic centered on the social status of Muslims. Judges closely examined the rank, title, pension, and salaries of Muslim witnesses. In so doing, they believed they could measure a Muslim’s likeliness for either loyalty or rebellion. Would a Subedar (a high ranking Indian officer of the army) or a pensioned employee in good standing be willing to sacrifice his status and security by waging jihad against the Company? Would such Muslims of rank remain idle as a prominent preacher denounced the Company as kafirs and incited Muslims to rebellion? To illustrate these distinct threads of reasoning, this chapter begins with a discussion of the context that gave rise to the initial allegations against Modin. This is followed by an examination of the proceedings of a Special Court that was convened to adjudicate charges leveled against him. In the following section, detailed attention is given to the prominent role of conservatism. In the decades preceding the Rebellion, the Company not only advanced reforms in the realm of culture and religion but also approached Indians, according to Peter Hardy, as “rational individuals capable of pursuing their own enlightened self-interest.” After the Rebellion, the Crown adopted far more conservative and communitarian policies. A renewed commitment to “noninterference” led, among other things, to the heightened awareness of Muslims as a “community” distinguishable from “Hindus.” See Hardy, The Muslims of British India, 62. 10 This return to conservatism is described variously. Karuna Mantena frames it as a “crisis” of liberal imperialism and an ensuing return to “traditional society” as conceived by law minister, Henry Maine. See Mantena, Alibis of Empire: Henry Maine and the Ends of Liberal Imperialism (Delhi: Permanent Black, 2010), 18–19, 56–88. Nicolas Dirks describes a new emphasis on custom following the Rebellion, giving rise to an “ethnographic state” and a “policing of tradition;” Nicolas Dirks, Castes of Mind: Colonialism and the Making of Modern India (Delhi: Permanent Black, 2002), 43, 149–72. See also Thomas Metcalf’s discussion of the new emphasis on Indian difference and the “revitalized conservatism” that followed the 1857 Rebellion, in Metcalf, Ideologies of the Raj, 43–57. See also Metcalf, The Aftermath of Revolt: India, 1857–1870 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1964).

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Malcolm Lewin, the Special Commissioner who oversaw the defense of Modin and called into question all of the charges of his accusers. The chapter concludes with an analysis of the verdict issued by the judges of the Faujdari Adalat and its rationale.

A State of High Alert Ever since the Vellore Mutiny of 1806, an uprising where sepoys had murdered nearly one hundred European officers at the Vellore Fort, officials in Vellore had become particularly sensitive to cultural or religious factors that could agitate the troops. Many had attributed the Vellore Mutiny to the introduction of a new dress code, which violated caste customs of the sepoys and convinced them that the Company was conspiring to convert them to Christianity.11 Some evidence suggests that the conspirators in the Vellore Mutiny met secretly in the mosque complex eventually occupied by Maulvi Modin.12 Adding to the sense of intrigue was the fact that the Company had imprisoned members of the family of the late Tipu Sultan at the Vellore Fort, after the 1799 fall of Mysore to a Company-led coalition. Against this history, the British had become all the more sensitized to the effects of Muslim reformist preaching among the troops. Vellore and the neighboring city of Arcot had long been key centers of Muslim influence. During the eighteenth century, they came under the rule of the Nawabs of the Carnatic, who were great patrons of Sufi holy men and Islamic learning. As did the Nizams of Hyderabad, the ruling dynasties of the Carnatic recruited Pathan mercenaries from North India 11

12

The Company’s introduction of a new type of turban is widely cited as a key factor that triggered the Vellore Mutiny. James Frey (formerly Hoover) discusses the resemblance of the discourse surrounding the turban to that of the greased bullet cartridges in the 1857 Rebellion. Frey argues convincingly that these “symbols” performed different tasks for rulers and ruled. Drawing on Ranajit Guha’s insights, he notes how the turban and greased cartridges became rallying points for indigenous mobilization against colonial authority. For Company officials, however, they reflected an underlying cultural conservatism that motivated rebellion (as distinct from a more modern political consciousness). See James Frey, “The Sepoy Speaks: Discerning the Significance of the Vellore Mutiny,” in Rand, Bates (eds.), Mutiny at the Margins: New Perspectives on the Indian Uprising of 1857, Vol. 4 (New Delhi: Sage, 2013), 3–4. The Vellore Mutiny, coupled with the circulation of a series of Persian pamphlets that had maligned the Prophet Muhammad, inclined many to believe that missionary activity would likely foment rebellion against the Company. Penelope Carson, The East India Company and Religion, 1698–1858 (Woodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell Press, 2012), 90–94. See James Frey’s description of the layout of the Vellore Fort and plans of the 1806 conspirators in Men Without Hats: Dialogue, Discipline and Discontent in the Madras Army, 1806–1807 (Delhi: Manohar, 2007), 105–114.

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to staff their armies.13 Toward the end of the century, the Company brought the ruling Wallajah dynasty of Arcot under its patronage.14 Even as the autonomy of the Nawabs diminished under Company rule, their investment in Sufi shrines and holy places continued in places such as Vellore, Arcot, and Madras (to which the Nawabs had shifted their court after 1766). During the late 1830s, domains once controlled by the Nawabs of Arcot became important venues of Muslim reformist activity. Muhammad Ali Rampuri, an immediate disciple of Shah Ishmael and (by extension) Sayyid Ahmad, was largely responsible for extending Muhammadi influence into Madras, Arcot, and other regions of the South. During his visit to Madras in 1829, Muhammad Ali used his skills as an orator to inspire reformist zeal among his audiences. Members of the royal family and a range of common folk were among those who took a vow of allegiance (bai’at) to him.15 It was during his second visit to Madras in 1836, however, that Muhammad Ali encountered sharp resistance to his reformist message from members of the Madras ulama. Drawing on the teachings of his guide, Shah Ishmael, he had condemned many of the popular practices associated with Sufi shrines.16 This led the Nawab of Arcot to denounce Muhammad Ali as a kafir and insist that any murid (follower) of his renounce all allegiance to him. The Madras ulama pressured Muhammad Ali to sign an oath disavowing all belief in the teachings of his guide.17 13 14

15

16

17

Susan Bayly, Saints, Goddesses and Kings: Muslims and Christians in South Indian Society, 1700–1900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), 152. After annexing their lands, the British tried to pacify the disenfranchised nawabs and their elite followers by granting them sums of money equivalent to a small portion of what they gained from their former lands. As the numbers of these “Carnatic stipendiaries” steadily increased, so did the financial burden on the Company. Sylvia Vatuk notes how officials looked upon these stipendiaries as a “drain, not only on the exchequer, but on the moral fiber of the entire Muslim people.” Sylvia Vatuk, “‘Family’ as a Contested Concept in Early-Nineteenth-Century Madras,” in Indrani Chatterjee (ed.), Unfamiliar Relations: Family and History in South Asia (New Delhi: Permanent Black, 2004), 165. The pamphlet that seems to have evoked the greatest opposition from the ulama was Shah Ishmael’s Taqwiyat al-Iman. In his sworn statement, Muhammad Ali Rampuri stated “I am not following the doctrines of the Taqwiyat al-Iman and other similar works which are . . . derogatory to the supremacy of Muhammed/peace be upon him/whosoever amongst my adherents follows the creed of those books is in error.” G.L. Pendergast Superintendent of Police at Madras to the Chief Secretary to the Government at Fort St. George, TNA No. 151 (Secret), October 22, 1839, 4783. Exchanges between the ulama and Muhammad Ali Rampuri are enclosed in correspondence between Pendergast and the government of Madras. Rampuri belonged to Sayyid Ahmad’s original movement. He was one of the editors of the first Wahhabi text printed in Bengal in 1822, the Persian Siratu’l-mustaqim, authored by Shah Ishmael. Marc Gaborieau, Marc Gaborieau, Le Mahdi Incompris: Sayyid Ahmad Barelwi (1786–1831) et le millenarisme en Inde (Paris: CNRS Editions, 2010), 155. Ibid, 7.

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Such exchanges illustrate how reformist teachings had fractured the Muslim community along doctrinal lines. Company officials, however, were far less concerned with doctrinal aspects of “Wahhabi” preaching than its potential to foment rebellion. They were particularly concerned that Muslim subedars or other salaried employees of the Company would embrace Wahhabism. As charges were leveled against Maulvi Modin at Vellore, G.M. Stewart, the Commanding Military Officer at Vellore made inquiries about the extent of Wahhabi influence in neighboring states. He asked Mark Cubban, the Commissioner at Mysore, to ascertain the extent of Wahhabi influence in the state of Mysore.18 He was particularly interested to learn whether any Muslims receiving pensions from the government had embraced Wahhabism. From August to October 1839 Cubbon conducted a series of interviews, not only to measure Wahhabi influence but also to understand the precise connotations of the label “Wahhabi” among Mysore’s Muslims. Cubbon’s interrogation of Subedar Mohijuddin Khan illustrates how even in this pre-Mutiny context, the label “Wahhabi” was charged with sectarian overtones: q: a:

For what reason is it that other Muhamedans call your sect Wahabees and do you consider it a name of reproach or of respect? Do you call each other Wahabees or not? That name is properly an epithet of God. It is Arabic. I don’t know the precise meaning of it. Abdool Wahab went to Mecca and made many reforms and it is from him that we are called Wahabees. I do not know that I am of the same opinion as that king and it is only since these two or three years that I heard of him from the Mufti. I certainly approve of his having ordered the houses and tombs at Mecca to be built lower than the Kaaba and the prophet’s tomb at Medina. What his opinions were on other subjects I don’t know. The name has been fixed upon all Muhammedan reformers reproachfully . . . We do not call each other Wahhabis. I do not know whether there is now in Arabia a king of the same opinions as we are, probably the Mufti can tell you.19

The Subedar’s response reveals the geopolitical landscape in which he situated the term “Wahhabi.” He viewed the label as applicable to Arabian 18

19

Stewart had asked Cubban to account for a list of men suspected of being Wahhabis at Mysore. Cubban responded by stating that four are altogether unknown, six are dead and two are residing in the honorable Company’s provinces. From M. Cubbon, the Commissioner for the Government of the Territories of the Rajah of Mysore, to the Chief Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George. TNA No. 145 (Secret), August 13, 1839, 2900. Subedar Mohijuddin Khan Examined, August 22, 1839 in the Commissioner’s Cutcherry. TNA No. 147 (Secret), October 1, 1839, 3501.

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Muslim reformers, not Indian ones. Moreover, when used in his region, he regarded “Wahhabi” as a term of reproach. After conducting numerous interviews of this kind, Cubbon concluded that Wahhabism was not at all prevalent among the Muslims of Mysore and Bangalore.20 He also gathered from his interviews that Wahhabi doctrines “were held in abhorrence, as subversive of the fundamental principles of the Mussalmen faith, without reference to their being used as a vehicle for schemes of political excitement or sedition.”21 During the same year of Modin’s trial (1839), Company authorities devoted massive resources to arrests, interrogations, and imprisonments of Muslim travelers and princes who were suspected of advancing seditious plots against the government. Among the more high profile arrests were those discussed in the previous chapters: Prince Mubariz ud-Daula, Nawab Ghulam Rasul Khan, and Udayagiri’s Abbas Ali Khan. The Company had initially identified each of these men as Wahhabis or Wahhabi sympathizers. None of them, however, were given a criminal trial as Modin was; and unlike Modin, all were found guilty of sedition and spent the rest of their lives in prison.

The Initial Accusations In addition to local concerns about Wahhabi agitation, the accusations against Maulvi Modin also arose within a context of inter-empire rivalry.22 Amid the unfolding Great Game in Afghanistan, Company officials searched for suspicious looking Muslim itinerants and preachers within various districts of South India. Indeed, one of the more controversial aspects of Modin’s criminal trial concerns the manner in which authorities at Vellore had fished for suspects in a somewhat open-ended manner. This approach, as we shall see, appears to have provided local Muslims with incentives to bring allegations against Modin. In March 1839, John Elphinstone, the Governor of Madras, had sent a letter to G.M. Stewart, the Commanding Military Officer at Vellore,

20 21 22

From M. Cubbon to the Chief Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George., 2897–2907. Ibid, 2899. Seema Alavi sets the global movements of Muslims within a context of inter-Empire rivalry. She explores, “the formation of the ‘Muslim international’ by tracing the movements of Muslim men who traveled out of India and located themselves at the intersection of the British, Ottoman and Dutch Empires.” See Seema Alavi, “‘Fugitive Mullahs and Outlawed Fanatics’: Indian Muslims in Nineteenth Century Trans-Asiatic Imperial Rivalries,” 1339.

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alerting him to the problem of wandering emissaries who were spreading disaffection toward the government. Elphinstone stressed the possibility that these emissaries were “tampering” with the native army and should be “apprehended and brought to punishment.”23 He urged Stewart to adopt measures that would prevent such disaffection from taking root among the troops at Vellore. Stewart entrusted J.D. Awdry, Vellore’s Superintendent of Police, with the task of acting on Elphinstone’s charge. In the absence of any specific suspect, Awdry solicited the help of a Brahmin named Lutchman Rao, who worked closely with him in the police thanah (station). What transpired from this point would have lasting implications for the outcome of Modin’s case. Awdry asked Lutchman Rao to name any “loyal and well affected Mussalmen of respectability” who might assist him in discerning “the state of feeling” among Muslims at Vellore.24 Lutchman Rao named Hussein Jamal Khan, whom Awdry summoned immediately. It was Jamal Khan who first informed Awdry about Modin’s seditious activities. His wording, however, suggested that he lacked first hand information: It was generally reported that Maulvi Modin Sahib was in the habit of reading a wa’z, or exhortation of a seditious nature to those who attended his mosque. Further that with a view to render hateful the British Govern ment and people, he had compiled a book, which he was in the habit of reading to his adherents and to those who attended the mosque.25

Awdry explained to Jamal Khan that British custom required that he obtain a copy of the book in question and that he produce evidence of seditious preaching. Jamal Khan responded by bringing a number of Muslims to the police station. One of them brought a copy of the book to Awdry and pointed out to him several inflammatory passages. Others provided information concerning Modin’s sermons. Awdry eventually found others who were willing to testify about Modin’s sermons. From the input of these witnesses – compiled somewhat casually – Awdry had pooled together enough evidence 23

24 25

This is how J.D. Awdry, the Superintendent of Police at Vellore, had narrated the contents of Elphinstone’s letter. Captain Awdry, Superintendent of Police, Witness at Vellore examined on oath. October 1, 1839. IOR, F/4/1877, File 79786, 373. Awdry’s summary of the letter is consistent with Elphinstone’s references to “swarms of faqirs and other agents of disaffection [traversing] the country in every direction and in unusual numbers.” See Elphinstone’s Minute on Enquiries at Kurnool and Udayagiri. August 18, 1840. IOR, F/4/1880, File 79794, 10–11. See discussion of Elphinstone’s repeated warnings in Chapter 1, 21–22. Captain Awdry, Superintendent of Police, Witness at Vellore examined on oath. October 1, 1839. IOR, F/4/1877, File 79786, 373. Ibid.

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to escalate Modin’s case to authorities at Madras. Those authorities, however, would not consider evidence concerning the book alone to warrant an arrest. The book attributed to Modin, Ras Nasara, emphasized a number of distinct themes. One of them concerns the inequality between Europeans and Indians, particularly evident in efforts to find justice within the Indian courts. “If any native should with due cause beat an Englishman,” the book charged, “[the Englishmen] unite together and take their opportunity to avenge his quarrel until they gain revenge.”26 When English rulers unjustly beat Indians, however, the latter lacked financial resources to press charges against them, and as a result, had to tolerate what the book described as their unjust, corrupt, immoral, and exploitive practices. Another witness, Sayyid Qadr Modin described how the book defamed both the Christian religion and the English people. Modin, he claimed, had referred derogatorily to India’s Christian rulers as “Nasarah dogs.”27 Moreover, the book declared that Muslims should be ashamed of themselves for allowing “men with women’s faces” to rule over them.28 This reference resonates with grievances of sepoys who had to shave their beards in order to conform to the Company’s dress codes. Several witnesses conveyed the sense of emasculation arising from shaving the beard and the humiliation of being ruled by effeminate men. Qadr Modin claimed that he pleaded with Maulvi not to disseminate this work, since the Company is in authority and it is not right to write against the authority in this manner. He can defend Islam without publishing this kind of work. The Maulvi said [that] since the Company has abused his religion, [he has] written this book to strengthen it.29

According to Sayyid Qadr Modin, Maulvi Modin had intended that the book be printed, but it failed to receive official approval for printing by the local Qazi. Another witness named Gholam Hussein testified that Modin had in fact managed to copy and distribute the book to his leading caliphs (here, deputies or representatives) at Bangalore, Arcot, and Pallavaram 26

27 28

29

Extract Fort St. George Secret Consultation of August 6, 1839. Letter from C.P. Brown, Persian Translator to Government to the Secretary to the Government, dated July 19, 183. IOR, F/4/1877; File 79786, 12. (hereafter all references to File 79786 may be presumed to come from shelfmark IOR F/4/1877). See also, the statement of Ihan Khan, Police Peon. File 79786, 115. Testimony of Sayyid Qadr Modin, Jagirdar of Chedwall. File 79786, 30. Another witness, Buddin Munshi, also made reference to shaven faces. Because Muslims “walked unwisely and many having shaved their beards and mustachios . . . Men with faces of women having no beards conquered them.” Testimony of Buddin Munshi, File 79786, 78. Testimony of Sayyid Qadr Modin, 30.

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(near Madras).30 He also read sections of his book aloud to Muslims gathered at his mosque and elsewhere.31 In spite of these testimonies concerning Modin’s book (sometimes referred to as a pamphlet), the precise whereabouts of the book was unknown at the time of the trial (October 1839). Awdry claimed to have received a copy of the book before forwarding it to Stewart, who then sent it to authorities at Madras. From that point on, he did not know of the book’s whereabouts; nor were passages from the book ever quoted verbatim.32 This did not seem to matter, since authorities did not consider evidence concerning the book to provide sufficient grounds to bring charges against Modin.33 In September, the charges against Modin were brought to the attention of the highest ranks of the government of India. H.T. Prinsep, the Secretary to the Government, drew a distinction between the mere propagation of Wahhabi doctrines (verbally or through texts) and deliberate attempts to “seduce the troops.” The former, he explained, could result in the spread of disaffection toward the government and should be carefully monitored. The government, however, “would not wish the public officers to be encouraged in seizing or otherwise molesting persons under suspicion of their entertaining and propagating dangerous opinions.”34 Only acts that directly targeted the sepoys with a view to dissolving their allegiance to the Company warranted official intervention. Prinsep believed that such perpetrators should be tried under military law and be subject to court martial. The problem, however, is that persons who incite troops to mutiny may be outsiders who are not “registered as belonging to a cantonment.”35 This was clearly the case with Modin. His mosque was located on the grounds of the Vellore Fort, but he was not a regimental maulvi in the employ of the Company.36 Indeed, G.M. Ogilvie, the Principal Collector at Chittoor (North Arcot) confirmed that Modin “does not derive his 30 31 32 33

34 35 36

Testimony of Gholam Hussein, adopted son of the late Muhammed Motathur, Head Eunuch of the Palace, dated August 6, 1839. File 79786, 26–29. Testimony of Sayyid Qadr Modin, 31. Captain Awdry, Superintendent of Police, Witness at Vellore examined on oath. October 1, 1839. File 79786, 379. Extract from Fort Saint George Secret Consultations, October 15, 1839. Letter from H.L. Prinsep, Secretary to the Government of India to R. Clerk, Secretary to the Government of Fort Saint George, September 18, 1839. File 79786, 176. H.T. Prinsep, Secretary to the Government of India to Robert Clerk, Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George, August 14, 1839. File 79786, 102. Ibid, 104. Regimental maulvis were employed by the Company to offer religious services to Muslim troops. See Nile Green, Islam and the Army in Colonial India (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 87.

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office from the state and that he has no support nor emoluments therefrom.”37 He would not be tried by a military tribunal but, as we shall see, at a Special Court before a Magistrate, under the auspices of the Faujdari Adalat at Chittoor. Authorities considered allegations concerning Modin’s sermons to be a far more serious matter than his book, since they could play a more direct role in inciting the troops to mutiny. Twelve of Modin’s followers who had regularly attended his mosque claimed that they had heard him exhort Muslims to unite in opposition to their infidel British rulers.38 Adding weight to their allegations were their claims that Modin was a Wahhabi, who routinely hosted foreign emissaries and maintained contact with key conspirators at Hyderabad, Kurnool and Udayagiri. Testimonies concerning the content of Modin’s jihad wa’z followed a recurring pattern. His message, they claimed, emphasized how the disunity of Muslims led to their subjugation by the “Nazarenes” (Christians). It was the duty of Muslims to be of “one mind” and to slay these kafirs.39 Some variation of this theme can be observed in the testimony of Mirza Ishmael Beg, the brother of a concubine of the late Tipu Sultan. As a state prisoner at Vellore, he apparently was permitted to attend Modin’s mosque and listen to his messages. In addition to the familiar contents of his wa’z summarized by other witnesses (i.e. concerning the need for Muslim unity), Mirza Beg reported that begums and state prisoners tended to bequeath their jewels and property to Modin upon their death. This, he claimed, his how Modin had become very rich.40 Another witness, Qadr Badshah, assigned a more explicitly anti-Christian element to Modin’s preaching. Upon hearing Modin’s wa’z, Qadr Badshah claimed to have asked him questions of clarification: 37 38 39 40

From the Secretary of the Board of Revenue. TNA No. 147 (Secret), September 24, 1839, 3473. Modin’s accusers, as we shall see, would use this fact to make their case for his disloyalty. A total of twenty-nine came forward, of which twelve claimed to have heard the messages directly. In addition to the testimonies already discussed, this phrasing is used in the testimonies of Modin Badsha (160–61), Abu Khan (162), and Mir Kosim Ali Shah (170). File 79786. Testimony of Mirza Ishmael Beg, brother of Ramned Bee, a concubine of the late Tipu Sultan and who is now a state prisoner in the palace of Vellore. File 79786, 125. Ishmael Beg’s testimony at Vellore (before Awdry and Stewart) is consistent with his testimony at Chittoor before the Magistrate. There, he described the degree of autonomy Modin enjoyed through his independent wealth. He claimed that members of Tipu’s harem had paid Modin significant sums of money along with precious stones toward the costs of their funeral rites. “The possession of this wealth,” he claimed, “has made him haughty and employ this language.” Testimony of the 4th witness. Mirza Ishmael Beg, son of Ranjan Beg. A Mussalman of Hanafi sect, aged 54 years, gains his livelihood from the Mahal or Palace, and at present resides at Vellore, in the Zillah of Chittoor. IOR, F/4/ 1878, File 79788, 420–21.

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Qadr Badshah’s testimony falls in line with a tradition, tracing back to the Vellore Mutiny, which presents Christianization as an impetus for rebellion. His is the only testimony that frames Modin’s wa’z in these religious terms. The witness, Mir Hamid Ali had lived in Maulvi Modin’s makan for seven years. His testimony provided details concerning Modin’s alleged Wahhabi ties and the extent of his following in Vellore and vicinity.42 According to Hamid Ali, who presided over a dargah (shrine) at Vellore, Modin had thousands of followers in the region and was secretly a Wahhabi. Over the span of three years, he claimed to have heard Modin declare, whoever does not pronounce the kalima are kafirs and it is the bounden duty of all true Mussalmen to slay them, that upon whomsoever the shadow of a kafir rests he is polluted, and his prayers will not be accepted till after ten days ablution nor should he show his face that the faithful should be united, of one mind and when the favorable opportunity occurs make the [unclear text] war with the kafirs.43

Other witnesses summarized Modin’s wa’z with similar language. When asked to clarify who precisely were these kafirs, they would name the European rulers of India.44 In addition to summarizing the core elements of the wa’z, Mir Hamid Ali provided names of Modin’s caliphs along with names of his murids among the sepoys: q: Who generally attended [the mosque] on these occasions? a: People of the town and pettah [bazaar or market], native officers and sepoys of the regiments stationed here, also pensioners and travelers. 41 42 43

44

Statement of Qadr Badshah, File 79786, 168–69. A makan could refer to a home, but in this instance, it referred to a living compound containing multiple buildings for hosting guests. Statement of Mir Hamed Ali, in charge of the Qadr Wali Dargah at Vellore, before J.D. Awdry, dated August 24, 1839. File 79786, 44. The kalima here refers to a prayer or declaration of Muslim belief. Ali Sahib, discussed at the outset of this chapter, was among those who named Europeans as the chief target of the wa’z.

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q: Did Maulvi Modin Sahib make murids? a: Yes. q: How many? a: From 2 3 thousand in Vellore and its vicinity and about the same number elsewhere. q: Has he any Caliphs? a: Yes, four . . . Jamal ud Din, Jemu Sahib, Muhammed Jacob at Vellore and Qademiah at Palavaram. He said they read his book aloud using “the same language” (this was asked in the deposition), and were appointed for that purpose. Jamal ud Din went to Bangalore some years since and made murids, this was a short time before the mutiny there and it will not be long if such appeals are made before mutiny takes place elsewhere. When he read his pronouncements aloud, generally 2 400 would be in attendance. q: Is Maulvi Modin Saib a murid of Maulvi Muhammed Ali, who came to Madras some years since? a: He is his Calipha and they are of one heart, as are his four Caliphas, who are also Maulvi Muhammed Ali’s Caliphas. q: Is Maulvi Muhammed Ali a Wahhabi? a: Yes a Wahhabi. q: How then did he obtain admittance amongst Muhammedans? a: He professed to be a Sunni, a Sayyid, a Priest of great sanctity but not a Wahhabi. q: How then was he found out to be a Wahhabi? a: By Maulvi Aslami at Madras. q: Are men of that sect here and at Mysore? a: Yes many, in the latter country especially but under a purdah not openly professing themselves; the horse dealers and other foreigners who frequent Mysore are chiefly Wahhabis and have tended to spread its doctrines. q: Has Maulvi Modin Sahib any murids amongst the native officers and sepoys? a: Yes, many. q: Can you name any? a: Yes, I know that he had two murids amongst the native officers in the 15th Regiment namely, Subedar Shaikh Ibram and his brother the Native Assistant, there is another brother here pensioned who is also a murid, I forget his name, Subedar Major Daud Khan since dead was also a murid. Muhammed Jacob, and others I can’t now recall. q: Were Subedar Shaikh Ibram and his brothers ever present when the words calling on the faithful to destroy the kafirs were used? a: Yes, often. q: Subedar Shaikh Ibram bears a high character and is spoken well of by his officers. It is not likely he would do this? a: Yes, he is a bahadur and speaks well and he is the more likely to do harm in that regiment on this account.45

45

Statement of Mir Hamid Ali, File 79786, 45–51.

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When asked why he did not come forward with this information earlier, Hamid Ali explained that he feared for his life in light of Maulvi Modin’s power and influence. He added that it was “not right” that the Maulvi, as an enemy of the Company, should have a makan “under the walls of the Vellore Fort,” and that the Company should remove him from those premises. Mir Hamid Ali’s testimony is significant on several counts. First, it indicates that in spite of their growing numbers, Wahhabis were not well received among the Deccan’s Muslims, the majority of whom were Sunni. A Wahhabi maulvi such as Modin, Ali claimed, had to conceal his identity (i.e., live in a state of purdah, or hiding/concealment) by professing Sunni affiliation or Sayyid (someone claiming descent from the Prophet Muhammad) status. Second, Ali’s reference to “horse dealers” is consistent with the predominantly Indo-Afghan composition of the Indian Wahhabis. Their movement (as discussed in the first chapter) followed the networks of the horse trade, which crossed the Indo-Afghan ruled states of Kurnool and Cuddapah and extended southward to Mysore.46 Finally, his description of Modin’s ties to the preacher, Muhammed Ali and the extent of Modin’s following in and around Vellore suggests that Modin was an active agent in efforts to expand Wahhabi influence in the South, particularly among sepoys. The testimony of Buddiuddin Khan Sahib confirms much of what Hamid Ali had stated in his testimony. Buddiuddin, however, presented Modin’s influence as covering an even wider territory and making greater inroads into the army. He noted, for instance, that one of Modin’s murids named Qadamaya, who resided at Palavaram (near Madras) was doing “much harm amongst the sepoys” and had made as many as 250 to 300 murids from among them.47 Modin, he reported, had as many as 6,000 followers in Vellore and surrounding villages. To this he added, This does not include numbers at Tripatur, Munirabad, Arcot, Chittoor, Sawatghur, Trichinopoly, and the towns and villages throughout the coun try, also at Bangalore and Mysore where he has at each place and its vicinity 2000 murids, who include native officers, sepoys, and many pensioners. . . . He is a secret Wahhabi, but not openly professed. This is well known to the respectable natives belonging to the Nabob’s household at Madras.

46 47

Jos Gommans, The Rise of the Indo-Afghan Empire, 1710–1780 (Delhi: Oxford University Press, 1999), 83–84, 101. Statement of Buddiuddin Khan Sahib, commonly called the Nawab of Truksaul, who receives Rs. 175 monthly at the stipend pay office. File 79786, 64.

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The Maulvi has an implacable enmity to the British Government. His great object is to win to his plans the natives of the native army.48

Other witnesses testified concerning Modin’s vast influence, particularly among the sepoys. Shaikh Ibram, the subedar to whom Mir Hamid Ali referred (above), claimed that both Modin and his father (also a maulvi) gained many murids. He claimed that as many as two thirds of the Muslim population of Vellore and vicinity were murids of Modin and his father.49 Ihan Khan, a Police Peon at Vellore, stated that he has known both Modin and his father (Husrat Shah Abdul Hussein) for thirty years. Whereas the father, he claimed, had never preached sedition, Modin did: The [father] was a good man and did not preach sedition. Both father and son have many murids. Since Maulvi Muhammed Ali came to Madras, the Maulvi Modin Sahib has, till within the last few months, been in the habit of reading wa’z, calling upon the Mussalmen to fulfill the several duties of their station, to pray, not to drink wine, etc. to which he added the following appeal: Mussalmen, those who do not read the kalima are kafirs and when the faithful are of one mind and united, then they must seize their opportunity and slay the kafirs.50

Upon being asked to whom the designation “kafirs” referred, Ihan Khan responded, “the Nasarah dog,” the derogatory name for Christians. Clearly, Awdry’s attempt to read the pulse of Vellore’s Muslims was yielding highly provocative results centered almost entirely on Modin. Twenty-nine men provided testimonies concerning Modin’s ties to Wahhabism and his seditious messages. Awdry, however, received their testimonies in a most informal manner – privately at the police thanah (station), not on oath, and with the assistance of a translator and recorder. Awdry then sent their written statements to G.M. Ogilvie, the Principal Collector (and Magistrate) at Chittoor. Chittoor was the headquarters for revenue and judicial authorities of North Arcot District. Reports concerning Modin’s alleged sedition at Vellore were referred to Ogilvie, who upon examining them determined that they warranted formal charges. Modin, he observed, “used seditious language to “excite Muhammedans against the rulers of this country.”51 He was to be tried at 48 50 51

49 Ibid, 65–66. Statement of Shaikh Ibram, an inhabitant of Vellore. File 79786, 97. Statement of Ihan Khan Police Chowdry, File 79786, 115. G.M. Ogilvie, Principal Collector at Chittoor to Clerk (Secretary to the Government of Fort St. George), September 19, 1839. File 79786, 127. Regulation XX of 1802 extends the right to a trial by a Special Court to anyone accused of “treason, rebellion, or other crimes against the state,” but

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a Special Court, convened at Chittoor. Upon the conclusion of the trial, the records would be sent to the Faujdari Adalat, whose judges would issue a final verdict.

Trial before a Magistrate Modin’s trial at the Special Court began at Chittoor on September 26, 1839 and concluded in November. According to the rules governing the Special Court, the Magistrate, G.M. Ogilvie, did not function as an impartial judge, but as the Prosecutor.52 The Special Commissioner, Malcolm Lewin presided over the trial, but was also considered by law to be the Counsel for the accused.53 This public trial brought a new set of dynamics to what was already a culturally and politically volatile situation. At Chittoor, witnesses who had rendered testimony privately to Awdry (at Vellore) would have to resubmit their testimonies on oath in front of Modin himself and his followers. Modin, in turn, would be accorded the right to call his own witnesses, cross-examine those of the prosecution, and render testimony of his own. There was no jury in this trial. Awdry described his witnesses as persons “of the greatest respectability,” some of whom occupied “the highest offices of their religion.”54 He objected to their having to appear before the Magistrate, contending that this would violate their customs. By leveling their accusations in front of their maulvi and his murids, witnesses holding rank and influence would discredit themselves in the eyes of fellow Muslims: [It would] lessen if not entirely destroy their influence over their murids who will hereafter consider them no longer persons of sanctity and, it is much to be feared, [would] draw upon them the abhorrence and enmity of the whole body of Mussalmen.55

52 53

54

55

stipulates no punishment for those convicted of such crimes. To address this omission, Regulation I of 1834 states that any person convicted of these crimes is liable to the death penalty. Papers Relating to East Indian Affairs viz. Regulations Passed by the Government of Bengal, Fort St. George, and Bombay in the Years 1832 to 1836, in The Sessional Papers Presented by Order of the House of Lords or Presented by Royal Commands in the Session 1837–38, Volume VIII, 78. Ogilvie is designated variously in official correspondence, for instance as Principal Collector at Chittoor or North Arcot, and as Magistrate at Chittoor. The government commissioned Lewin along with Muhammed Ghous, Muhammedan Law Officer of the Provincial Court at Chittoor, to try Maulvi Modin before a Magistrate according to Regulation XX of 1802 (see note 54). TNA No. 147 (Secret), September 24, 1839, 3450. Letter from Awdry to Stewart, April 29, 1839. File 79786, 90. Though this letter is dated April 29, this is possibly a recording error. None of the documentation of this case (roughly 1,000 pages) is dated as far back as April. Quite likely, the letter was written on August 29. Ibid, 90.

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Prior to the commencement of the trial, Awdry voiced concerns over the safety of his witnesses. Early on, Ogilvie had detained Modin as charges against him were mounting. Once Ogilvie had set a date for Modin’s trial, he offered to release him. Awdry claimed that the declaration of Modin’s release had emboldened Modin’s followers while giving those who had testified against him cause for great fear.56 As the trial progressed, Awdry described how Modin’s followers were intimidating his witnesses by claiming that they would be placed in jail for their perjury. Even the Court, he claimed, was treating the witnesses as if they were prisoners by preventing them from speaking to each other and by placing them under careful surveillance at night. Moreover, he cited verbal abuse by Modin’s followers: In the streets, witnesses are insulted, called kafirs and other ignominious titles. Their houses at Vellore are pelted with stones, families threatened, and they are told their husbands, sons and brothers are in chains. Witnesses of high repute and noted loyalty to the British [baked] out in the sun from 9am to 4pm under watch of peons.57

Awdry portrayed the Special Court as being biased toward Modin. “It is hinted to them by friends of the Maulvi,” he claimed, “that if they will speak for him they will be kindly treated by the Judge.”58 Later on Stewart, in support of Awdry, would describe how the original witnesses had become victims of misrepresentation. He objected to the manner in which the Special Court had recorded their depositions. Most of the testimonies were first given in Telugu. Later, they were translated into Hindustani and English. The peons entrusted with recording the testimonies, he claimed, had distorted their content in the process of translating them. Only Muslims in the Cutcherry were qualified to examine the Hindustani translations, and they appeared to have been absent from the proceedings of the Special Court. Stewart criticized Lewin for challenging the credibility of the witnesses when he himself did not know enough Hindustani (or any Telugu at all) to interpret their testimonies accurately.59 Stewart conveyed Awdry’s concerns about mistreatment and official bias to authorities at Madras. He claimed that four maulvis from Madras who 56 57 58 59

Ibid, 93. Upon the commencement of the trial at Chittoor, Modin, as we shall see, chose to remain in confinement at the Chittoor jail. Awdry to Stewart, October 19, 1839. File 79786, 215. Awdry to Stewart, October 11, 1839, ibid, 180. Stewart to Clerk, November 28, 1839, ibid, 270.

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were close to Modin had contacted two of the witnesses, Qadr Modin and Dustaghir Sahib, in order to induce them to alter their testimonies at Chittoor.60 The climate of intimidation created by Modin and his followers was dissuading others from testifying: [No one else will come forward] as loyal as he may, when he has nothing to expect but insult, obloquy and the enmity of all his countrymen with no support whatever from the Civil authority. Again, the maulvee has with him very many adherents, who attend the trial and pay the utmost honor and attention to him whenever they see him, which they have means of doing now in court, and he receives similar treatment from the authorities, thereby showing a striking contrast between a person accused of treason and his accusers.61

The picture being painted by Awdry and Stewart was that of vulnerable Muslims who had risked their personal security in order to bring forth the truth concerning the treasonous designs of Modin. Not only did the original witnesses face the hostility of Modin’s followers, but they also contended with local authorities who actually extended preferential treatment to Modin on account of his high status. What transpired at Chittoor, however, was more complicated than this. Modin was aware that witnesses for the prosecution might accuse him of tampering. This is why he volunteered to remain in confinement for the duration of the trial. Even Ogilvie had noted the threat to stability posed by the large number of murids who had accompanied Modin to his trial. Because this, Ogilvie found it “exceedingly hazardous” to detain Modin in the custody of his office.62 He therefore kept him at the jail in Chittoor. Declining the option of being released on bail, Modin agreed to remain at the Chittoor jail, in isolation from his murids. During the trial, followers of Modin accused Awdry of witness tampering. They complained that Awdry had seated himself in close proximity to his witnesses (for the prosecution) in order to coach them as to how to respond to questions.63 As complaints against him mounted, Awdry was 60 61 62 63

Stewart to Clerk, September 21, 1839, ibid, 146. Stewart to Clerk, October 10, 1839. ibid, 205. G.M. Ogilvie to Clerk, September 19, 1839. Ibid, 130. Strictly speaking, Awdry was not Modin’s prosecutor and these were not “his” witnesses. Awdry did, however, request to serve as Modin’s prosecutor at Chittoor. Awdry to Stewart, April 29, (Again, the date is quite likely August 29, not April) 1839, ibid, 90. He requested this to reduce their sense of vulnerability while testifying under oath. Lewin, however, denied Awdry’s request as being inconsistent with the procedures of the Special Court. Lewin to the Acting Register to the Court of Faujdari Adalat, Fort St. George. IOR, F/4/1878, File 79788, 89.

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asked to leave the trial at Chittoor and return to Vellore.64 Even then, concerns about his involvement in the case persisted. Modin’s mother complained that Awdry had bribed witnesses to testify against her son and that upon returning to Vellore, he had entered Modin’s mosque to amass further evidence against him. She claimed that he had entered the mosque “by violence” without removing his boots in order to make a sketch of the mosque.65 He did so in order to inform his witnesses about the layout of the mosque so that they could effectively respond to the defense’s questions. These questions were largely centered on whether the witnesses had actually attended the mosque or had actually seen Modin deliver the jihad wa’z. When cross-examining witnesses, Modin often asked them to describe the layout of the mosque and where he was seated when he delivered the allegedly seditious sermons. Muhammed Cassim was among the witnesses who claimed to have heard Modin’s jihad wa’z. Modin’s exchange with him illustrates the significance of physical space to the defense: q: Did I preach sitting in the veranda or inside the mosque? a: [You were] sitting on a seat situated between a wall and some posts and were preaching. q: Is the yard of the mosque of chunam work or how?66 a: It is of chunam work. . . . q: [You said] I was preaching inside the mosque. Were the people of the town and myself perceptible from the outside?67

Besides asking witnesses to provide details concerning the layout of the mosque, Modin frequently asked them to describe the kinds of people who were in attendance and to provide names of individuals present. Rarely were witnesses able to respond with any degree of specificity. Cassim, for instance, claimed that sepoys of the 48th Regiment and the Davis Battalion were present, along with “people of the town.” When asked to provide names of anyone present, Cassim simply responded that “all the sepoys . . . are now gone away.”68 64 65 66

67

68

Ogilvie to Awdry, October 14, 1839. File 79786, 233. Awdry narrated the objections of Modin’s mother in a letter to Stewart. Awdry to Stewart, October 10, 1839. File 79786, 205–09. Chunam is a type of flooring composed of lime, made of burnt shells. Henry Yule, Hobson-Jobson: A Glossary of Colloquial Anglo-Indian Words and Phrases. William Crooke, ed. (New Delhi: Asian Educational Services, 1995), 219. Testimony of the nineteenth witness, Muhammed Cassim, son of Shaikh Hussein, of Shaikh caste, Hanafi sect, aged about 30 years, a Commissariat Officer’s Peon and a resident of Vellore. Under cross-examination by Modin. IOR, F/4/1878, File 79788, 52–53. Ibid, 51.

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As the trial at Chittoor progressed, each side continued to accuse the other of witness tampering. It reached a point where Malcolm Lewin, the Special Commissioner, was compelled to adjourn the case until measures could be taken to ensure a fair trial.69 Shortly thereafter, however, the Madras Governor ordered that the trial be resumed.70 A highly revealing series of exchanges between the witnesses, their interrogators, and Modin himself ensued. Of the 64 witnesses who testified at Chittoor, 29 were the original witnesses of the prosecution who had spoken to Awdry at Vellore. The rest were additional witnesses that Malcolm Lewin, the Special Commissioner had called. Central to their testimonies was the question of Muslim loyalty to the Company: What factors ensured a relationship of namak halal, literally the “good salt,” which signifies the reciprocal bond between rulers and ruled? Did Modin embody this virtue and did the witnesses? Since Mughal times, the imagery of salt was central in describing a king’s relationship to his subjects. A king granted patronage in the form of gifts, positions of rank or protection to a subject. Those who received such provisions were said to be “eating his salt” and were expected to extend their loyalty in return. Sepoys employed by a king and who in turn extended to him their faithful military service exemplified namak halal. Those who mutinied were considered namak haram, or faithless to their salt.71 Though deployed under Company rule mainly to describe the loyalty of sepoys, the logic of namak halal and namak haram could apply more broadly to anyone receiving employment, pension or other allowances from the Company. The matter of one’s status or rank under Company rule was a salient theme in several testimonies rendered at Chittoor. Mir Hamid Ali was among the original witnesses who had spoken to Awdry and testified for the prosecution at Chittoor. The Criminal Court at Chittoor identified him as a member of the “Sayyid caste” who made a living by “begging.”72 Because he was poor and unemployed (in spite of being identified as a Sayyid), he may have had less to lose by making strong allegations against Modin. Before the Magistrate, he claimed to have 69 70 71 72

From Lewin, the Special Commissioner. TNA No. 151 (Secret), October 22, 1839, 4818. Clerk to Lewin, October 21, 1839. File 79786, 222. A revealing discussion of salt imagery in relation to the sepoy is found in Parama Roy, Ailmentary Tracts: Appetites, Aversions and the Postcolonial (Durham: Duke University Press, 2010), 40–42. Testimony of the third witness, Mir Hamid Ali, son of Mir Murid Ali, of Sayyid caste, 42 years, occupation begging, at present residing at Vellore, in the Zillah of Chittoor, was sworn according to the customs of his caste. IOR, F/4/1878, File 79787, 370.

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resided in Modin’s makan for three years. During this time, he had occasion to converse with Modin about his ties to the Company.73 Mir Hamid Ali suggested that Modin’s refusal to accept an allowance from the Company made him an enemy of the Company: [T]his man like the other [illegible] has not been provided with any allowances, [and] he therefore preaches such evil. I then enquired of others and was told that the Nabob and the Company’s Gentlemen offered him much allowance, which he refused to accept. I asked them the cause . . . [they replied] he has very rich disciples who support him. I then asked [the maulvi] why he has not any allowance like all other [illegible]. He told me it is true that the others have and not he [and] that he had through God’s grace sufficient [means] for his maintenance for seven generations. Hearing this I was greatly enraged for everyone seeks relief from the English, which he did not do and ever since I discontinued making salam and going to him. I concluded that he is the enemy both of the Company and Mussalmen and went and lived in the town lest I should be brought to some risk or other.74

Ali had been acquainted with Modin for years, but only in the context of this investigation did he develop the boldness to make such accusations, that too in front of Modin himself. In Modin’s cross-examination of Ali, he raised this very issue. He also raised a question concerning the social status of the Muslims who were present when Ali allegedly heard him preach sedition: q:

You resided in my makan for three years. How often did you during that period hear the seditious preaching? a: I do not recollect, but I heard it on every Friday on which I came to your mosque from the beginning to the end. q: You have stated that you heard the preaching when 125 persons were present. Were there any respectable persons there? Who were by your side and before and behind you? Tell their names. a: I am a poor man. I do not know who were rich and poor persons, nor am I acquainted with them. How do I know their names? q: You have stated above that since 9 years you have used to go to the colonel now and then. Why did you not report to him the circumstance of my having been engaged in the important affair which might tend to destroy thousands? a: Because it is a rule of the Company that every point be proved by witnesses and documents and because your influence as a priest and learned and wise man deterred others from coming forward as evidence in my favor.

73 74

Before Awdry, he claimed to have resided at Modin’s makan for seven years. Testimony of Mir Hamid Ali at Chittoor, File 79786, 378.

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After Modin cross-examined Hamid Ali, the mufti of the court (hired by criminal courts to expound Muslim law) also cross-examined him. The mufti’s cross-examination pushed the matter of social status even further. He listed the names of six Muslims of rank and asked Hamid Ali if they were present when he heard the seditious messages. q:

a:

Look at the 6 persons now before the court namely Mahomed Shafee, a pensioned Jamadar, Hussein Khan, Munshi, Sayyid Makhdum a pensioned sepoy, Ishmail Sahib, Sayyid Hussein a pensioned Havaldar, and Faqir Mahomed Qaheera. Were they present when Modin Sahib preached sedition? They were.76

Mir Hamid Ali would not have known that the men named by the mufti were witnesses of the defense (called by Lewin) who stated on oath that they had not heard Modin deliver such messages.77 The cross-examiners refuted Hamid Ali’s claims not only by presenting counterevidence, but also by invoking matters of social class or rank. Just as Hamed Ali argued that Modin’s refusal to accept an allowance from the Company emboldened him to preach sedition, Modin and the mufti suggested that Hamid Ali’s low status had emboldened him to level spurious charges against persons of rank. Another witness of the prosecution, Chandkhan, a Pathan bazaar worker at Vellore, addressed the meaning of namak halal in connection to one’s obligation to report sedition: q: What is the meaning of namak halal and namak haram? a: The person who eats its salt and speaks ill of the Sirkar (government or ruler) is namak haram. Namak halal is such as gives up his life for the sake of his protection and obeys his command. q: If a person were aware of another’s design to stir up rebellion against his master, is the reporting of it to his master the duty of a namak halal or of a namak haram? a: If he did not report it to his master he is namak haram.78 75 76 77 78

Cross-examination of Mir Hamid Ali by Maulvi Modin, ibid, 390–93. Cross-examination of Mir Hamid Ali by the mufti of the court, ibid, 409. Fatwa of the Faujdari Adalat in the case before the Special Commission held at Chittoor. IOR, F/4/ 1878, File 79788, 81. The ninth witness, Chandkhan, son of Shah Mahomed Khan, of Pathan caste, Hanafi Sect, aged 86 years, a Chowdry in the Commissary Bazaar and at present residing at Vellore. IOR, F/4/1878, File 79787, 542.

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Chandkhan’s testimony conveys the sense of duty espoused by many witnesses of the prosecution. They came forward to testify against Modin precisely because not doing so would constitute an act of disloyalty. From where, however, did this obligation to report Modin’s sedition originate? And how much time had lapsed between their hearing the jihad wa’z and their decision to report? Several witnesses claimed that a Cotwal (chief of police in a given area) named Abdul Qadr was the first person to have asked them about Modin’s preaching. The witness, Sayyid Ali was a subordinate police patrol to Abdul Qadr. Only once had he attended Modin’s mosque. This was on the first Friday of Ramadan when he heard Modin’s jihad wa’z. He claimed that it was Abdul Qadr who had asked him initially if he had heard Modin preach sedition. After responding in the affirmative to Abdul Qadr, Sayyid Ali reported the matter to Awdry. In his testimony at Chittoor, he was asked why Abdul Qadr had bothered to approach him with this inquiry when he had only attended Modin’s mosque on one occasion and had told no one that he had heard Modin preach sedition. Examined on three separate occasions as a witness for the prosecution, Sayyid Ali was unable to provide a clear answer.79 A more detailed account of Abdul Qadr’s role is provided in the testimony of Khatib Shah Muhammed Jacob, a local cultivator in Vellore and also a preacher (khatib) at a local mosque (unnamed).80 Two witnesses of the prosecution, Shaikh Ikram and Mir Cassim Ali, had mentioned that he was present when Modin had delivered his jihad wa’z, a claim that Jacob flatly denied. Jacob, who testified for the defense, explained that Modin’s sermons often challenged the customs of his hearers and in so doing, evoked their hostility: Maulvi Sahib is a learned man and makes know the commands of God and the prophet. His doctrines are an innovation on bad customs. The people bear enmity against him because he forbids those acts, which their fathers and grandfathers had observed.81

79

80 81

The seventeenth witness, Sayyid Ali, son of Sayyid Ishmael of Musselman caste, Hanafi sect, aged 28 years, a Military Police Peon and resident of Vellore in the Zillah [District] of Chittoor. IOR, F/ 4/1878, File 79787, 692. More specifically, a khatib is a preacher who delivers khutba, or sermons, during the prayers of Friday afternoon and great festivals. The fifty-seventh witness, Khatib Shah Muhammed Jacob, son of Shaikh Muhammed of Shaikh caste, Sunni Sect, aged about 40 years, a cultivator and Khatib and resident of Vellore in the Zillah of Chittoor. IOR, F/4/1878, File 79788, 351.

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Jacob’s testimony lends some credence to claims of the original witnesses that Modin was either a Wahhabi preacher or had come under the influence of the reformist message of Wahhabism (perhaps through his affiliation with Muhammad Ali Rampuri). Wahhabis, after all, were noted for their attacks on local practices considered bidat (innovations). Jacob, however, denied having heard Modin preach against the Company. Under cross-examination by Modin, Jacob described how the Cotwal, Abdul Qadr (whom he labeled a “heretic”) had persuaded two individuals, Budendin and Shirfuddin (the sixth and twelfth witnesses for the prosecution) to render false testimony against Modin. Abdul Qadr had approached them four times to elicit sworn statements from them concerning Modin’s messages. The two men refused to sign Abdul Qadr’s statements, but apparently were willing to make verbal charges against Modin to Awdry. The men then turned to Jacob for his intervention. They urged him to go to Modin and plead with him for their pardon: [That I must tell Modin] that through the persuasion of Abdul Qadr, they had accused him falsely which he should pardon, that as they had not signed their statements, they would depose in a different manner should they be further examined before the Gentlemen. On the next day I informed Maulvi Sahib of this circumstance and begged him to pardon them. When he replied that if those two persons give a declaration in writing to him, confessing that they gave false evidence against him through the instigation of the Cotwal Abdul Qadr, he would pardon them. On the 2nd or 3rd day Shirfuddin and Budendin came at 11:00pm for an answer, when I informed them of what Maulvi Sahib had told me. The two persons did not consent to write and give the paper stating that they would not execute any document but would depose as required. I then told them that there could be no advantage in their verbal statement and desired them to depart. When they went, they desired me to beg blessings for them and I informed them that if they stated what was true, God would be on their part.82

Contrary to what they had promised, Shirfuddin and Budendin did not alter their testimonies at Chittoor or admit that they had rendered false testimony before Awdry. Whether this is due to their fear of reprisals from Awdry and Stewart or whether this is because Jacob had fabricated their disclosure is uncertain. What we do know is that Modin himself had made very similar claims about being framed by those who responded to Awdry’s initial enquiry. 82

The fifty-seventh witness, Khatib Shah Muhammed Jacob, under cross-examination by Maulvi Modin. Ibid, 354–55.

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In his testimony of November 7, Modin described himself as one who belonged to a clerical family, who had long been committed to living “an ascetic life.”83 For roughly 150 years, his ancestors had occupied the same makan located on the grounds of the Vellore Fort. As the son of a Sayyid and a maulvi, he taught the five pillars of Islam along with basic morals. Some of his moral and religious teachings, he admitted, evoked opposition from his hearers; but he never stated which teachings did so. Instead, he provided an account of how certain individuals became motivated to bring charges against him. Modin described how he had once hosted a traveler named Kismat Ali at his makan. This presumably was during the period when the Madras Governor, John Elphinstone had alerted Vellore officials to beware of suspicious “foreigners” who were traveling about the South in order to incite rebellion. Considering it his duty to interrogate such individuals, Awdry summoned both Kismat Ali and Modin to the Cutcherry. Modin, however, replied that it was not his custom to entangle himself with the affairs of the government, since he “lives a solitary life, devoted to the contemplation of God.”84 Since he knew nothing about Kismat Ali, he asked Awdry to summon only Kismat Ali. According to Modin, Awdry arrested Kismat Ali, but finding him to be innocent of any wrongdoing released him. Awdry, however, remained displeased with Modin for not coming to the Cutcherry. It was then that he initiated his inquiry into Modin’s loyalty to the Company. Modin’s narration of what followed placed a strong emphasis on the low status of the Muslims who testified against him. He described how Awdry had enlisted his assistant Lutchman Rao to locate individuals would be willing to testify about his seditious sermons. Awdry, he claimed, had offered “money and situations” to witnesses Abdul Qadr, Hussein Jamah Khan, Jaffer Beg, Khadir Modin, and the Vellore Qazi, Muhammad Abdullah. This was done to entice them to come forward with information concerning his seditious activities. These men, in turn, found other Muslims of low status – “certain beggars and vagabonds and turbulent characters” – to supply the Commissary (Awdry) with the information he sought.85 The Cotwal and his peons had convinced Awdry that these were trustworthy individuals. Assured of the government’s favor and various rewards, they were more than willing to make the claims they did. Until 83 84

Testimony of Maulvi Modin Sahib, son of Shabal Hussum Sahib Qadri of Sayyid caste, Hanafi religion, aged 39 years. IOR, F/4/1878, File 79788, 419. 85 Ibid, 428–29. Ibid, 433.

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his dismissal from the trial, Awdry had coached the witnesses to craft their statements in ways that would convince the Civil Magistrate (Ogilvie) of his crimes. Modin’s testimony drew on the same language of social status that colonial authorities had employed to gauge Muslim loyalty. People of low status and disrepute, he claimed, comprised the bulk of Awdry’s witnesses. Modin highlighted the absurdity of their claims about him: Most of the witnesses of the Commissary who have been examined before your court have deposed that the rich and the poor as well as the persons who draw salary from the sirkar and those who do not and the pensioned subedars, jamadars, and others . . . also subedars and others who now save the Company and who are their well wishers, were present when I preached sedition and are aware of it.86

Contrary to what his lowly opponents had claimed, persons of rank, Modin claimed, have shown that claims about his seditious preaching were entirely false. Modin presented other arguments to rebut the charge of sedition. He stressed the public and transparent character of his preaching. His were not the ways of someone who preached sedition, which are more typically marked by clandestine meetings and secret communications. He also stated that he received no allowance from the Company, but relied on God for his sustenance. For opponents of his such as Mir Hamid Ali (above), Modin’s lack of reliance on the Company was enough to make him a rebel. Modin, however, explained that he disapproved of the kind of jihad his accusers had attributed to him: It is not enjoined in the Muhammedan law that jihad or war should be made against those rulers who do not object to the Bang/calling Muhammedans to prayers/and salat prayers. The Company’s Government never objected to our prayers and to the doctrines of Muhammedan law. While so, how is it possible to excite people to make jihad contrary to law? . . . I never preached sedition against the rulers, nor did I compile such a book.87

This explanation of the appropriate conditions for jihad resembles arguments put forth by modernist Muslims in the decades following the 1857 Rebellion.88 It was Sayyid Ahmad Khan, for instance, who explained that 86 88

87 Ibid, 436–37. Ibid, 437–39. Post 1857 Wahhabi trials led urban Muslims to reconsider the meaning of jihad, particulary as it was understood by Sayyid Ahmad Barelvi and his followers. See Ghulam Mohammad Jaffar, “The Repudiation of Jihad by the Indian Scholars in the Nineteenth Century,” Hamard Islamicus, Vol. XV, No. 3, 93–100.

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Islam did not enjoin Muslims to rebel against the British, contrary to what was claimed by the civil servant, W.W. Hunter.89 Finding himself in a context where Muslims were similarly burdened to demonstrate their loyalty, Modin presented a more irenic picture of Muslims under British rule – a far cry from the radical calls to jihad that were attributed to him by his opponents.

Through Lewin’s Eyes In spite of the sizeable number of witnesses who testified concerning Modin’s seditious sermons, Malcolm Lewin was able to discredit their testimonies on several fronts. In addition to identifying multiple inconsistencies, he also brought to light procedural flaws, largely centered on Awdry’s collection of the initial evidence. In order to fully appreciate Lewin’s role in securing Modin’s acquittal, it is necessary to examine other aspects of his career and outlook, which demonstrate a clear pattern of defending those whom he regarded as underdogs. Lewin was one among several Company officials during the 1840s who drew on years of administrative experience to criticize the government and advocate for various kinds of reforms.90 From 1834 to 1839 he had served as Magistrate in multiple South Indian Districts: Canara, Guntur, Rajamundry, and Bellary. From 1839 to 1846 he served as a judge of the Madras Sadr Adalat (Court of Appeals).91 It was during these years as a judge that Lewin became critical of the Company’s exercise of power in the Presidency. As he criticized the government, he developed a strong rapport with the increasingly vocal Hindu gentry at Madras, 89

90

91

See Syed Ahmad Khan Bahadur, Review on Dr. Hunter’s Indian Musalmans: Are they Bound in Conscience to Rebel Against the Queen? (Benares: Medical Hall Press, 1872) and W.W. Hunter, The Indian Musalmans: Second Edition (London: Trubner and Co., 1872). Among them are Patrick Smollet, whose criticisms of the Company are discussed in connection to the plight of Abbas Ali Khan, the Jagirdar of Udayagiri and John Bruce Norton, another Judge of the Madras Sadr Adalat, who advocated legal reforms that would better sensitize European legal practitioners to Indian social realities. See John Bruce Norton, The Administration of Justice in Southern India (Madras: Athenaeum Press, 1853) and my discussion of Norton in Mallampalli, Race, Religion and Law in Colonial India: Trials of an Interracial Family (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 198–99. Other liberal voices included members of the “Torture Commission,” who conducted a far-reaching enquiry into the use of torture by police and revenue collectors in the Madras Presidency. Besides Lewin, its members included Edward Francis Elliot, Chief Magistrate of Madras and Hudleston Stokes, a Civil Servant at Madras. See Anupama Rao, Discipline and the Other Body: Correction, Corporeality, Colonialism (Durham: Duke University Press, 2006), 180. Charles Campbell Prinsep, Record of Services of the Honorable East India Company’s Civil Servants in the Madras Presidency from 1741 to 1858 (London: Trubner and Co., 1885), 88.

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who protested the Company’s religious policies, particularly its support of Christian missionaries. In 1847, his criticisms of fellow judges and attacks on the government at Madras resulted in his being asked to resign from his office. Two developments in Lewin’s career shed light on his interventions in Modin’s trial. Even though these occurred after the trial, they reveal his steady critique of state power, whether in connection to local police or to the Company’s administration. In September 1840, only months after his role as Special Commissioner at Chittoor, Lewin compiled a Circuit Report about the Company’s use of torture in the Madras Presidency. His Report described the harm routinely inflicted by police officers on ordinary civilians. Likening police to robbers, he questioned whether “parts of the country were not better left to their own resources.”92 Citing detailed examples from Districts of the Deccan such as Cuddapah and Bellary, Lewin’s Report described inhumane methods employed by police to extract confessions from crime suspects. In their efforts to satisfy their superior officers, police will go to any lengths to “entrap prisoners into confessions.”93 On this point, Lewin was hardly a voice crying in the wilderness. Other members of the Commission produced similar findings. In their collective Report, they concluded that the practice of torture within the territories under the Madras Presidency is “universal, systematic, and habitual”; that mutilation and death are its frequent results; and that “it has no respect to sex or age.”94 For his part, Lewin recommended that native police officers no longer be permitted to record confessions of the accused on account of their illegitimate means of extracting them. Lewin’s observations were not entirely new. In 1815, Circular Orders of the Faujdari Adalat had noted that police were employing flawed procedures in gaining confessions. Police, for instance, recorded confessions without seeking corroborating evidence, merely claiming that the accused had rendered them voluntarily. The Circular Orders also described irregularities in relation to confessions made before a police and those rendered on oath before a criminal court. Two witnesses need to be present in any confession made before a police, and that too for the duration of the confession (not simply when the accused signs the paper transcript). In court, the examination of a witness needs to be recorded on separate paper 92 93

Malcolm Lewin, Is the Practice of Torture in Madras with the Sanction of the Authorities of Leadenhall Street? (Westminster: Thomas Brettell, 1856),10. 94 Ibid, 14. Ibid, 4.

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from the declaration made before the police.95 Lewin, as we shall see, brought such irregularities to light in the trial of Maulvi Modin. The other aspect of Lewin’s career concerns his critique of the Company’s religious policy. Lewin was convinced that the administration of Lord Tweeddale, the Governor of Madras was actively and unfairly supporting missionaries. In November 1845, riots erupted in Tirunelveli in which mobs of Hindus attacked Christian villages, accosted residents, and destroyed property. Afterward, the local Magistrate jailed more than one hundred Hindus, who upon appeal were acquitted. Lewin subsequently published a Minute in which he held missionaries entirely responsible for the Tirunelveli riots on account of the improper support they received from local officials.96 He also accused the government of meddling with the Court’s role in dealing with the accused. In the midst of Lewin’s tirade against Tweeddale’s administration, a conflict also erupted between him (the Second Judge) and M. Waters, the First Judge of the Sadr Adalat. In a heated exchange, Lewin had referred to his colleague as a “contemptible scoundrel and a hypocrite.”97 He would eventually be dismissed from his office on account of what his superiors would later describe as his “intemperate and insulting” manner.98 Lewin’s views on the Company’s religious policy also found expression years later in his reflections on the causes of the 1857 Rebellion. Indians had once respected the Company’s rule, he observed. When, however, the Company extended its support to missionaries and turned the agencies of the state into “instruments of conversion,” it insulted the feelings of Hindus and sowed the seeds of discontentment.99 Lewin’s identification with the Hindu gentry of Madras, particularly their objections to proselytizing, lies at the heart of his explanation of the events of 1857: When the natives of this country see the courts of justice overturned; the judges dismissed from their offices for refusing to side with the Christian convert against his adversary the Hindu when they see the Hindu insulted by the Government in their official documents, by the opprobrious taunt of “heathen” when they see the labors of the missionaries terminate in civil 95 96

97

98

The Circular Orders of the Court of Foujdaree Udalat, From 1803 to 30th June, 1834 (Madras: Church Mission Press, 1835), 15. IOR. Geoffrey Oddie, “Constructing ‘Hinduism’: The Impact of the Protestant Missionary Movement on Hindu Self-Understanding,” in Robert Frykenberg (ed.), Christians and Missionaries in India: Cross-Cultural Communication since 1500 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 170. Fort St. George Judicial Department. Letter and memorandum concerning the Indian government’s dispute with Malcolm Lewin, Madras Civil Service 1814–47, suspended as a Judge of the Sudder Court, Madras in 1846. MSS Eur F213/55, 8. OIOC. 99 Ibid, 1. Malcolm Lewin, The Way to Lose India (London: James Ridgeway, 1857), 7.

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These observations of Lewin reveal a clear pattern of contesting the abuses of Company power, particularly in relation to the “native religions” of India. Above, his sympathies clearly were centered on Hindus. Seventeen years prior to penning the above reflections, Lewin advocated for the rights of a prominent Muslim on trial for sedition. In what ways, then, were Lewin’s sensitivities as a liberal critic of Company power played out in the trial of Maulvi Modin? From very early on in the trial at Chittoor, Lewin set out to prove that the allegations concerning Modin’s seditious preaching were “a fabrication from beginning to end.”101 His lengthy report, numbering more than three hundred points, relied on two principal threads of argumentation: First, that many of the witnesses for the prosecution were, for one reason or another, not credible. In some instances, the testimonies they rendered privately before Awdry at Vellore differed from what they said publically before the Magistrate at Chittoor. The prosecution, of course, explained the discrepancy with references to intimidation by Modin’s followers. Lewin, however, pointed to instances in which witnesses for the prosecution, rather than retracting their original claims, had actually enhanced them. Some, for instance, were unable before Awdry to name others who were present when Modin had delivered his wa’z, but before the Special Court were suddenly able to do so.102 Lewin also described how their testimonies contradicted each other and were refuted by witnesses of the defense. Second, Lewin noted that during the proceedings at Chittoor, Awdry had solicited additional evidence from his witnesses through illegitimate means. Lewin discredited the testimonies of many witnesses for the prosecution. Among them was Hussein Jamal Khan. It was Jamal Khan who had first informed Awdry of Modin’s seditious preaching. He appears to have served as the chief informant through which Awdry acquired the names of others who were willing to testify about Modin’s jihad wa’z. Lewin pointed out that under oath, Jamal Khan admitted his lack of first hand knowledge of Modin’s seditious sermons. Jamal Khan claimed to have 100 101 102

Ibid, 16. Lewin to Secretary to the Government at Fort St. George, October 12, 1839. IOR, F/4/1877, File 79786, 191. Ibid, 193.

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visited Modin’s mosque thrice a month for the past two years, but had never actually heard Modin preach such sermons. Neither had he known of others who did.103 By discrediting Jamal Khan – the first link in the chain – Lewin intended to show that all of his contacts had similarly fabricated their claims about Modin. Lewin also challenged the testimony of Mir Hamid Ali. In his testimony before Awdry, Hamid Ali was identified as the head of a dargah in Vellore. At Chittoor, however, the Court identified him as one who made his living by begging – a clear demotion in status. For Lewin, this was an example of how the prosecution had overstated the rank or status held by its witnesses. Not only did Lewin consider these witnesses to be of low repute, but he also believed their testimonies had effectively damaged the reputations of high ranking persons, whom they named as also having heard Modin’s jihad wa’z. Lewin charged that in so doing, witnesses for the prosecution blurred the lines between Muslim loyalty and disloyalty: The object of the parties engaged in the prosecution has been to cast suspicion on the most respectable persons resident in Vellore, in order to deprive the Maulvi of their testimony. With this view military subedars and pensioners of all grades have been named as accessories. Men of 50 or 60 years service, whose interests clearly lie in supporting the present govern ment and who could not look for benefit from a change, have not only had their loyalty called into question, but tales of their disloyalty have been received, and relied on, without question, and a course of proceeding has been followed up, in which all distinction between loyalty and disloyalty has been confounded and lost.104

Lewin suggested that as a mere beggar, Mir Hamid Ali had exerted undue influence over Awdry. He insisted that Ali was a “worthless character” and that his evidence proved himself so. “The acts of which the Maulvi stands accused have not occurred within the last ten months,” Lewin concluded, “and the evidence in support of them is of so bad a character that even if true, it would be scarcely possible to trust it.”105 In keeping with his consistent critique of police power, Lewin contested the manner in which Awdry had solicited additional information from his witnesses. After Awdry’s original twenty-nine witnesses had reappeared before the Magistrate (Ogilvie) to provide their testimonies on oath, many 103 104 105

Lewin to Secretary to the Government (Political Department), October 15, 1839. IOR, F/4/1877, File 79786, 228. Lewin to the Acting Register of the Faujdari Adalat. IOR, F/4/1878, File 79787, 96. Lewin to Secretary to the Government (Political Department), October 15, 1839. IOR, F/4/1877, File 79786, 228.

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of them returned to Vellore. It was at that time that Awdry again summoned them to provide more evidence against Modin. With their depositions before the Magistrate having been brought to a close, it was illegal for Awdry to solicit any additional evidence from these witnesses. Awdry was prompted to adopt such measures by an order printed in the September 1839 issue of the Fort Saint George Gazette. The order warned the public of the crime of sedition and described how one Muslim officer named Ausur Khan had lost his pension upon being charged with aiding and abetting sedition. Awdry decided to make this order an occasion for his own public declaration in Vellore. With the full backing of Stewart, Awdry decided to use the example of Ausur Khan as a way of eliciting more evidence concerning Modin.106 A conventional method by which police and military authorities had issued declarations was by the beat of the drum, or tom tom. Awdry declared by beat of drum that anyone who came forward with information about seditious preaching would be rewarded by the government, and that any government employee who knew about such preaching, but did not report it would be considered an accomplice and could lose their job and pension. According to Lewin, “evidence never before heard came forth” from men who had presented an entirely different testimony on oath before the Magistrate.107 Motivated by the incentives of financial reward and the threat of losing their posts or pension, these men appear to have embellished their claims concerning Modin’s seditious activities. Before the Magistrate, some of the original witnesses had effectively retracted their claims about Modin. After Awdry resummoned them by beat of drum, he was not only able to solicit information from new witnesses but was also able to steer his original witnesses back to their initial claims. At this point in the trial, however, none of this additional information was admissible. For his part, Awdry admitted that he had assured potential informants that the government would “handsomely reward men coming forward at the risk they have done to expose treason.”108 At the same time, he insisted that they tell nothing but the truth. Awdry even told the Cotwal, Abdul Qadr that if he were aware of treason but did not report it, he would recommend his removal. He conveyed to other witnesses that not 106 107 108

Awdry to Stewart, November 6, 1839. IOR, F/4/1877, File 79786, 295. Lewin to the Acting Register to the Court of Faujdari Adalat, Fort St. George (n/d). IOR, F/4/1878, File 79788, 91. Deposition of Captain Awdry, Superintendent of Police, Witness at Vellore, examined before Lewin on oath on October 1, 1839. IOR, F/4/1877, File 79788, 401–02.

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reporting treason when they knew of it would be considered an act of aiding and abetting and would be punished.109 For Lewin, these carrots and sticks had all along been central to Awdry’s methods. They provided sufficient motivation for Muslims to level the most incendiary charges against their own maulvi. Even the bonds of Muslim unity would not surmount these incentives: The bond which unites Mussalmen is doubtless a very strong one but the enquiry abundantly shows that the hope of reward has sufficient force to induce men to break it. If this had not been the case where would the 29 witnesses sent up with the case have been found?

Lewin’s sociology of Indian Muslims suggests that their loyalty to the British was something that could be presumed if they were given jobs, titles, or other means of security under Company rule. To secure these provisions, they would not hesitate to attack their maulvi, especially if they were assured of the Company’s protection. Lewin’s rebuttal of the prosecution’s case went far beyond the matter of Awdry’s methods for extracting evidence. His case stressed what he saw as the absurdity of the very claims being made about Modin. Why was it, he posed, that of the thousands of Muslims who had heard Modin’s seditious sermons, not one would have come forward during the three year period when he had delivered them? It was only after Elphinstone’s circular of March 1839 (alerting police of emissaries who were trying to “tamper” with the feelings of the sepoys) that anyone had ever referred to Modin’s jihad wa’z. Lewin found it highly implausible that Modin would openly preach rebellion before the multitudes, many of whom were high ranking Muslim officers or employees of the Company: It is quite credible that the maulvi in common with all Mussalmen should desire to see the crescent above the cross but that during a series of years he should have preached the murder of a whole race in the presence of multitudes dependent on them for their support and under the eye of the servants of the government and in their immediate vicinity is what no man of understanding or who makes any use of his reason could for a moment believe.110

As much as Lewin’s arguments advanced the case for Modin’s innocence, they did not necessarily cast Indian Muslims in a sympathetic light. He portrayed Muslims as being nominally defined by their religious affiliation, 109 110

Ibid. Lewin to the Acting Register to the Court of Faujdari Adalat, Fort Saint George, File 79788, 232–34.

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but ultimately influenced by their quest for security through the Company’s patronage. Unlike Hyderabad’s Resident James Fraser, Lewin drew no distinction between Indian Muslims and Wahhabis, who presumably were willing to wage jihad for the right cause. In fact, Lewin never refers to Wahhabis at all. When the prosecution and defense had concluded their cases, they forwarded their evidence and arguments to the judges of the Faujdari Adalat. As the final arbiters of this criminal trial, the judges concurred with Lewin about the procedural flaws employed by the Vellore police. This was one among several factors that ultimately sunk the case of the prosecution. One of the judges, A.D. Campbell, criticized the manner in which Awdry invited evidence by beat of the drum: It universally diffuses the false belief that it is not the discovery of the truth the existence, or non existence, of the crime which is sought for, by the public authorities but merely the discovery of its perpetrators, the authorities having already fully satisfied themselves as to the fact of its commission.111

Essentially, Awdry had baited witnesses to produce groundless allegations about Modin by issuing his declaration by beat of drum. Moreover, he did so under the false presumption that Modin had in fact delivered the messages in question. Ultimately, the Faujdari Adalat disregarded those testimonies obtained by beat of drum. Moreover, it noted the voices of many other witnesses of the defense who claimed to have attended Modin’s mosque for years without having heard any seditious sermons. Witnesses for the prosecution named others who were present when Modin delivered his jihad wa’z. When those named were deposed, however, they denied having heard the wa’z. The following excerpt from the judgment illustrates the culture of evidence that won the day: The evidence of the 1, 28 and 63 witnesses that the maulvi aforesaid preached, instigating the people to combine for the purpose of destruction, is hearsay, and is therefore not in law entitled to credit. . . . Although the 3, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21, and 22 witnesses depose that they heard the maulvi himself preach the words instigating the people to destroy the rulers of the country and the 15th and 53rd witnesses depose that the maulvi in question composed a small work containing matter hostile 111

Minute of the 3rd Puisne Judge of the Court of Foujdaree Udalat on Trial by the Chittoor Special Commission of Moulavee Moideen Saib, File 79788, 56–57.

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to them yet not to mention the contradictions in their evidence, the inconsistencies between each other, and the circumstance of some of them being police peons, their evidence is nullified and falsified by the evidence of the 7, 23, 24, 26, 27, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41 52, 54, 55, 57, 58, 59, 60 62, and 64 witnesses who depose to this effect: “Although most of us were in the habit of frequenting the mosque of the maulvi in question we never from his lips heard any such preaching or words defamatory of the government.” The testimony of the former witnesses is therefore totally unworthy of credit.112

The meticulous manner in which the judges of the Faujdari Adalat referenced and cross-referenced testimonies of witnesses, even amid the prevailing paranoia concerning Wahhabis, ensured that Modin would not be subjected to a witch trial. Another flaw in the case identified by Judge Campbell was the lack of any specific date on which the seditious messages were supposed to have been given. The prosecution stated that the preaching had occurred “on or between the years 1836 and 1839.” “A charge this indefinite,” Campbell charged, “is manifestly illegal” since the precise date of the offense was never supplied. To ignore this rule would deny the defendant the legal right to the means of rebutting the charge.113 The other judge of the Faujdari Adalat, W. Hudleston questioned the believability of the charges brought against Modin. Arguing along lines similar to those of Lewin, Hudleston contended that it is highly unlikely that Modin would have openly preached treason in a mosque “accessible, [if witnesses for the prosecution are believed] to all corners, at a place full of persons in the employ of the British Government.”114 Witnesses for the prosecution named military subedars and pensioners of all ranks as accessories to Modin’s crimes, calling into question their long-standing loyalty to the Company. This, according to Hudleston, defies all reason. “Treason,” he observed, “is hatched in secret, and does not thus stalk forth in the face of day.”115

Conclusion The trial of Maulvi Modin was set within a distinct axis of Muslim reformist influence in South India. This axis spanned (from East to West) 112 113 114 115

Fatwa of the Faujdari Adalat in the case before the Special Commission held at Chittoor, File 79788, 2–5. Ibid, 62–64. Minute of the Second Puisne Judge of the Faujdari Adalat, W. Hudleston, February 1, 1840, IOR, F/4/1877, File 79788, 73. Ibid, 74.

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from Madras through Vellore, Arcot, Bangalore, and Mysore. These venues belong to a unique history of Muslim influence and rebellion in South India. The fall of Mysore’s Tipu Sultan (1799) and the imprisonment of his family at Vellore, the Vellore Mutiny of 1806, the influence of the Nawabs of the Carnatic, and the fiery oratory of the reformer, Muhammad Ali Rampuri all belong to this history. Hyderabad, Kurnool, Nellore, and Udayagiri belong to a different sphere of Company-princely relations. The investigations conducted in these places all made reference to Mubariz ud-Daula’s designs at Hyderabad. They also carried a strong Indo-Afghan component, which connected places such as Kurnool, Udayagiri, and Cuddapah with Wahhabi networks extending to India’s Northwest Frontier. Whereas the suspicion assigned to men such as Ghulam Rasul Khan and Abbas Ali Khan stems in large part from their links to Hyderabad, the allegations against Modin derive from his location within the other axis of discontentment with Company rule and of Muslim reformist influence. As the presiding maulvi of a mosque rumored to have been the secret venue for the conspirators of the Vellore Mutiny, and as someone who was believed to be a caliph of Muhammad Ali Rampuri, Modin carried the weight of guilt by association. The criminal trial that secured Modin’s acquittal brings to light important aspects of how colonial courts adjudicated namak halal, or the bonds of loyalty between the Company and Indian Muslims. The determination of loyalty or sedition in Modin’s trial was not simply a matter of weighing the relevant evidence, but also concerned a Muslim’s degree of dependency on the Company’s patronage. The condition of namak halal was maintained when someone who “ate the salt” of the ruler fulfilled his or her reciprocal obligations. At Vellore, this not only included one’s own loyalty to the Company (secured by means of gifts, employment, rank, pension, etc.) but also the obligation to report seditious activities if one were aware of them. Namak haram is epitomized by an act of rebellion committed by one who “ate the Company’s salt” or enjoyed its patronage. For at least one witness, the fact that Modin did not receive an allowance from the Company was enough to brand him namak haram. For other witnesses, his prominence as a reputed teacher of Islamic law earned him the respect of the government and placed him within the reciprocal bonds of fidelity that reflect namak halal. The trial at Chittoor, however, concerned not only Modin’s loyalty but also that of the twenty-nine witnesses who testified against him. Lewin scrutinized their rank and social status as much as he did their actual

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claims. In the end, it was not merely the insufficient evidence of seditious preaching that led to Modin’s acquittal; it was also a calculus based on social identity, which rendered the claims of the twenty-nine highly implausible. The men whom these witnesses claimed were present when Modin delivered his wa’z were often persons of high rank (pensioned subedars, pensioned sepoys, havaldars, etc.) who uniformly denied having heard Modin deliver the jihad wa’z. Judges of the Faujdari Adalat could not fathom the idea that such men could regularly attend Modin’s mosque and yet say nothing about his seditious preaching.

Conclusions

During the late 1830s, an unfolding political crisis in Afghanistan gave rise to fears of a Muslim conspiracy in British India. Colonial officials were convinced that so-called Wahhabis had instigated the conspiracy by exhorting Muslim princes and soldiers to engage in jihad. The center of operations would not lie in Afghan strongholds along India’s Northwest Frontier, but rather in the princely state of Hyderabad and surrounding towns of the Deccan. To appreciate why the Deccan would attract this kind of attention, it is helpful to revisit the words of Auckland Colvin who, toward the end of the nineteenth century, served as the Company’s Lieutenant General of the Northwest. Events at Afghanistan, he said, produced “tremors” extending to regions as far south as Mysore. He described Muslims in the “remotest Deccan” burying “jewels, money and valuables in the ground” in anticipation of some epochal event.1 What Colvin omitted was any description of the actual connections that allowed developments in Afghanistan to be felt in the Deccan. Whether as traders, preachers, mercenaries, or migrants in search of employment, Muslims of various ethnicities formed networks that had long integrated the Deccan into larger zones of circulation.2 These included overseas passages to Arabia via Bombay and overland routes to Sindh and Central Asia. During the 1830s, these networks became suspect. Imperial rivalries, most notably the unfolding politics of the Great Game, brought the movements of Muslims under heightened scrutiny. Added to this were Victorian fears of thugs, faqirs, and other suspicious looking wanderers. Against this climate, the dreaded Wahhabi emerged as yet another subversive element to be uprooted from British India. Whereas the trans-Asian 1 2

Auckland Colvin, John Russell Colvin: The Last Lieutenant Governor of the Northwest under the Company (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1895), 100. Richard Eaton, Islamic History as Global History (Washington: American Historical Association, 1990), 22–26; and Markovits, Pouchepadass, Subrahmanyam (eds.), Society and Circulation: Mobile People and Itinerant Cultures in South Asia, 1750–1950 (London: Anthem, 2006), 131–62.

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circulation of Muslims had once made them agents of cosmopolitanism and cultural synthesis, their movements during the early nineteenth century increasingly made them objects of suspicion; that is, persons allegedly using their global connections to subvert British imperial power. Itinerant Muslims of various classes, ethnicities, vocations, and sectarian affiliations often acted as channels of information concerning conflicts between Britain and her imperial rivals.3 Information transmitted through the back and forth movements of these itinerants are what linked “faraway events” in Afghanistan or Arabia to “proximate fears” within various localities of the Deccan.4 It should be noted that many of the migrants discussed in Chapter 1 were not particularly religious individuals. Neither did they match the profiles of wandering faqirs, byragees, or thugs, who gripped the colonial imagination and threatened the sedentary society the Company sought to manage. They were nevertheless linked in some manner to “Wahhabis” and implicated in treasonous plots. Company officials over-interpreted the relationship between Muslim reformist activities and the local politics of the Deccan. Even after the arrest and imprisonment of Mubariz ud-Daula, the Company proceeded to read “Wahhabis” into domains where they had little direct influence. No doubt, reformers such as Inayat and Wilayat Ali and Muhammad Ali Rampuri had during the 1830s made significant inroads into Hyderabad and neighboring South Indian districts. Their preaching and literature drew many to the Muhammadi movement. They also evoked forceful opposition. As Indian Muslim opponents denounced Wahhabis along doctrinal lines, Company authorities capitalized on the fissure by similarly demonizing them. They applied the label “Wahhabi” to a range of persons who were suspected of disloyalty or were portrayed as such by others. In some cases, they used the Wahhabi label to legitimate actions against princes with whom they had preexisting conflicts and who had no demonstrable ties to Muslim reformers.

The Patronage Order The incorporation of Muslims into the fabric of imperial rule through gifts of land, honorific titles, subsidiary alliances, and employment was one of 3 4

Seema Alavi, Muslim Cosmopolitanism in the Age of Empire (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2015), 7–8. Arjun Appadurai, Fear of Small Numbers: An Essay on the Geography of Anger (Durham: Duke University Press, 2006).

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the Company’s principle means of thwarting rebellion. The case studies of this book describe how the myth of the dreaded Wahhabi assumed a life of its own and threatened the Company’s patronage order. Those who did not “eat the salt” of the Company (for reasons of unemployment or the quest for autonomy) posed a constant threat of rebellion. The very thought that someone securely situated under the Company’s patronage could be “turned” to rebellion through reformist preaching was enough to legitimate the detentions, arrests, surveillance, and annexations that occurred throughout the Deccan. In each of the four case studies, a local context provided fertile ground for the Wahhabi myth to take root and enact its unique set of performances. The politics unleashed by the dissemination of conspiracy narratives destabilized arrangements made with princes or soldiers to ensure their loyalty. Hyderabad’s chronic debts led to the disaffection of Arab and Afghan soldiers, who constantly demanded payment of their arrears from the Nizam’s empty kists. Some of these soldiers developed an affinity for Mubariz ud-Daula and what became his jihadist cause. In Kurnool, the shadow cast over the legitimacy of Rasul Khan’s succession and a barrage of local grievances against him added weight to rumors concerning his role as a provider of arms and troops in Mubariz’s conspiracy. At Udayagiri, the status of Ali Khan’s jagir as a mere life grant led to speculation that he too was collaborating with Mubariz in order to secure his jagir for his progeny. Employment disputes within the Nellore Cutcherry also gave rise to spurious charges against Ali Khan; and in Vellore, twenty-nine Muslim men who feared losing their jobs or pensions under the Company were compelled to falsely accuse their maulvi of preaching seditious sermons. In each case, Wahhabi preachers or rumors about them unsettled the bonds of loyalty forged between the Company and prominent Muslims. The case studies of this book also show how sharp distinctions drawn between Wahhabis and “ordinary” Indian Muslims resonated with traditional notions of patronage and loyalty within South Asian polities: Muslims who accommodated themselves to the Company’s patronage order became the very definition of namak halal (“good salt” or loyalty). The determination of who was or was not a Wahhabi was intimately tied to this not so subtle profiling of Muslim subjects; that is, to the scrutiny of their standing within networks of patronage that inclined them either toward loyalty or discontentment and betrayal (namak haram). It was in this act of profiling that the Wahhabi label was conveniently deployed as an epithet. Herein the Company’s evidentiary standards were most patently compromised and along with them the ideals of a liberal empire.

The Information Order

219

The Information Order In his monumental study of the “information order,” which formed the basis of British rule in India, Chris Bayly describes a fusion of indigenous and modern forms of knowledge. To enhance its grasp of Indian society, the government tapped astrologers, physicians, bazaar gossip, wandering holy men, spies, munshis (writers or translators), and runners as vital sources of information. For a time, the Company integrated these informal agents with the roles of its courts, district collectors, and police. Prior to the 1857 Rebellion, however, the Company grew increasingly distrustful of local sources of information. A steady assault on indigenous knowledge through missionary preaching, public instruction, and other reforms destabilized an “Indian ecumene,”5 and triggered India’s “mutiny of subordinated knowledges.”6 A misguided preference for new, official sources of information made it more difficult for the Company to grasp “Indian mentalities” and measure the degree of disaffection toward its rule.7 Bayly argues convincingly that stress points within the Indian ecumene and a breakdown of the information order are what set the stage for the 1857 Rebellion.8 This must not lead us to suppose, however, that access to reliable information somehow thwarted the Deccan’s 1839 conspiracy. Interpreting events of 1839 in this manner would presume that the Wahhabi conspiracy was what officials thought it was and that the Company’s interventions are what prevented it from materializing. My examination of the voluminous records of the investigation reveals that authorities had profoundly misconstrued the scope and nature of the threat. Moreover, they tended to act on scant or deeply flawed intelligence and change their narrative as and when needed to legitimate the use of force. Kurnool is a case in point. The Company did indeed find massive amounts of weapons (both hidden and on display) at Rasul Khan’s palace; but the explanation for this accumulation shifted from an emphasis on Rasul Khan’s ties to Mubariz ud-Daula’s conspiracy, to his independent 5

6 8

The “ecumene” refers to a public domain in which diverse actors freely and peacefully debated notions of the godly society. C.A. Bayly, Empire and Information: Intelligence Gathering and Social Communication in India, 1780–1870 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 182–85; 218–26. 7 Here, Bayly uses Foucault’s phrase, 330. Ibid, 316–17. The 1857 Rebellion represents a prominent landmark in modern South Asian history, so much so that historians were tempted to redact earlier rebellions into a single narration about anticolonial resistance, culminating in the “Great Rebellion.” The historiographic tendency is discussed in Nitin Sinha, “Forged Linkages and ‘Spectre’ of 1857: A Few Instances from Bihar,” in Gooptu, Majumdar (eds.), Revisiting 1857: Myth, Memory, History (Delhi: Roli Books, 2007), 52–69. See also K.K. Datta, Anti-British Plots and Movements Before 1857 (Meerut: Meenakshi Prakashan, 1970).

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plans to revolt, to a focus on his “whimsical passions” (for women, cock fighting, and weapons). The only consistent thread that runs through the Company’s dealings with Rasul Khan is its long-standing distrust of the prince. This is traceable to a variety of factors, including the matter of his succession. Rather than presenting Rasul Khan as a freedom fighter or a stage setter for the 1857 Rebellion, this study has recast him as a casualty of conspiratorial politics. In keeping with Bayly’s observations, the findings of this study describe three points of vulnerability within the Company’s information order. These allowed the discourse of conspiracy to perform the work that it did. First, we can observe the fragmentation of intelligence, personnel, and agendas between princely and Company-ruled districts. It was not as if authorities at Hyderabad, Madras, Nellore, and Mysore did not share information – they did. The Secret Files of the Political Department at Madras were replete with reports from Hyderabad’s James Fraser, who in turn shared information with T.V. Stonhouse at Nellore. Vellore’s G.M. Stewart solicited information about the prevalence of Wahhabis in Mysore from Mark Cubban, Mysore’s Commissioner. For the most part, however, such collaboration reinforced paranoia instead of diffusing it. Officials within the various districts continued to act with great autonomy and tended to use information gained from other places to justify already existing agendas. Their collaboration never created the checks and balances needed to contain the unfolding witch-hunt. Second, the investigation did not rely so much on the “unofficial agencies” or the “petty economy” of information described in Bayly’s work, but on formal mechanisms of enquiry designed to legitimate the use of force: A “Commission of Enquiry” into the designs of Mubariz ud-Daula, official weapons inspections at the palace of Kurnool’s Rasul Khan and the Hill Fort of Abbas Ali Khan, and lengthy examinations of detainees in a “Question-Answer” format were the chief avenues through which the Company collected information. Each setting drew input from large numbers of Muslims. These official enquiries tended to occur after the fact of intervention and often exposed the scant or flawed intelligence that guided the decisions of officials. A third point of vulnerability in the Company’s information order concerns its overemphasis on documentary evidence. As they lamented the absence of such evidence, officials often claimed that suspects had either burned seditious letters or dissolved them in water prior to their arrests. Bhavani Raman describes how the colonial state’s new emphasis on documentation created a parallel domain of mimicry and forgery.

The Voice of Reason?

221

As documents increasingly formed the basis of official transactions, “a whole gray market of writers and writing – candidates, fixers, informers, and forged documents – came into being.”9 Indeed, men such as Fraser or Stonhouse, who sounded the loudest alarms concerning the Wahhabi threat, became particularly susceptible to manipulation through forgery. The only piece of documentation on which the Company could implicate Rasul Khan in the conspiracy was a forged letter, allegedly carried to Hyderabad by an elderly woman. Nellore’s cotwal and trusted servant of Stonhouse, Aminuddin Khan, similarly had become adept at forging letters that incriminated his enemies and cast him as a loyal servant of the Company. Arab travelers in the Deccan often carried letters of introduction from high-ranking Muslims in Arabia. They sometimes forged such letters to solicit financial support from the nawabs or tutelage under a prominent maulvi at Hyderabad or other centers of Islamic learning, such as in Triplicane (Madras). When such letters of introduction fell into the hands of colonial officials, they were used as proof of a transnational plot against the British.

The Voice of Reason? The role of the judiciary in the case of Vellore’s Maulvi Modin interrupted the pattern set in other aspects of the investigation. Here, the judiciary appears to have brought a degree of balance and restraint to what was otherwise a campaign driven by inquisitorial zeal. Was this atypical of the colonial judiciary at the time or was the judiciary, by definition, a venue in which evidence for both sides had to be examined on its merits? Elizabeth Kolsky paints a rather bleak picture of colonial justice and its implementation in India. Far from leveling the playing field between Indians and Europeans, colonial law was central to the structure of violence on which Company rule was predicated. Drawing from a large number of cases involving murders committed by white planters in the mufussil (countryside), Kolsky illustrates how the law in India was designed to exempt whites from criminal liability, even in the most egregious instances of violence against Indians.10 She sustains this critique in connection to fighting occurring along the Afghan Frontier during the 1860s. 9 10

Bhavani Raman, Document Raj: Writing and Scribes in Early Colonial South India (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012), 16–17, 137. Elizabeth Kolsky, Colonial Justice in British India: White Violence and the Rule of Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010).

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Conclusions

Here, the Company also fixed the rules, this time, according to Kolsky, to confront the murderous Afghan “fanatic.” The Company constituted the “fanatic” as a legal category in order to warrant speedy trials and extreme punishments for Afghans who committed violent acts against Europeans.11 Officers who presided over trials of Afghan fanatics often lacked formal training in the law, invited no legal arguments and did not record the proceedings.12 Modin’s trial (1839–40) clearly provided a venue in which the voice of reason (including Modin’s own voice) prevailed. The trial occurred well before the Company had established its legal standard for “fanatics” and predates the passing of the Indian Penal Code (1860) and the Code of Criminal Procedure (1861). In the absence of clearly stipulated standards, its proceedings were all the more tied to the personality, competence, or sensibilities of the legal personnel at hand. In this connection, we must not underestimate the pivotal role played by Malcolm Lewin, the Commissioner who oversaw the proceedings of the Special Court at Chittoor. Had someone else occupied Lewin’s position, someone without his critical posture toward the colonial state, the court may not have scrutinized as meticulously the motives of Modin’s accusers or the procedures adopted by Lieutenant Awdry. The Special Court might very well have acted as a mere “emissary of the state” (to use again Ranajit Guha’s phrase), eager to sign off on the Company’s anti-Wahhabi agenda. Seen from this angle, Modin’s trial, while yielding a favorable result for the accused, is not inconsistent with Kolsky’s overall critique of colonial justice. Lewin, however, was not the only official who spoke on behalf of the accused or challenged in some way the Company’s modus operandi. As much as we can observe breaches of justice in the Company’s investigation, we can also observe liberal, interrogating voices bringing them to light, though too often after the fact. Patrick Boyle Smollet decried the manner in which the Company had falsely accused Abbas Ali Khan and confiscated his jagir without granting him a trial. Captains George Hutton and Duncan Malcolm, two members of Hyderabad’s Commission of Enquiry, concluded that Rasul Khan was the victim of a conspiracy, not a participant in one. Editorials in English newspapers decried the manner in 11

12

Elizabeth Kolsky, “The Colonial Rule of Law and the Legal Regime of Exception: Frontier “Fanaticism” and State Violence in British India,” American Historical Review (2015), Vol. 120, No. 4, 1218–1246. The normative categorization of Afghan fighters as “fanatics” is traceable to a much earlier period, as Benjamin Hopkins has shown. See Hopkins, The Making of Modern Afghanistan, 77. Kolsky, “The Colonial Rule of Law and the Legal Regime of Exception,” 1221.

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which authorities at Hyderabad had imprisoned “Wahhabis” at Hyderabad indefinitely, without any formal charges or sentences pronounced against them. Liberal voices in England also criticized the exercise of power in the colonies. In 1842, the East India Committee of the Colonial Society issued a blistering critique of the Afghan war. As members of a private society, the drafters of this report managed to obtain from Parliament documents that explain the decision to wage the Afghan war. Based on their readings of this material, they described the war as illegal, clandestine, fought on false premises (i.e., based on a need for vengeance, not on principle), and constituting an act of “robbery” against the Afghan people.13 Unlike Smollet and Malcolm, who held the Company responsible for its breaches of justice, the Colonial Society described the Afghan War as being chiefly the responsibility of the British Crown. This pattern of self-critique may be interpreted in different ways. On the one hand, it reinforces the vision of the liberal empire by introducing a language of state accountability to the rule of law. That some were willing to expose the flawed intelligence on which men like Fraser or Stonhouse based their actions suggests a willingness to bring truth to power, even within a climate of paranoia. These interrogating voices reveal the absence of a monolithic Company mentality with regard to military intervention and the annexation of territory. On the other hand, the fact that these voices so often gave way to more dominant voices of control and conquest or arose after the fact of violence diminishes their authenticity and purchase. They may more cynically be construed as voices of disgruntled Company servants-turned-whistleblowers, or as mere rituals of conscience that followed the exercise of power. Seen from this angle, the Company’s annexation of Kurnool and Udayagiri did not occur in a fit of “absentmindedness,” as the Cambridge historian A.R. Seeley had once described the British Empire, but rather through a deliberate and consistent suppression of its more liberal self. 13

See Report of the East India Committee of the Colonial Society on the Causes and Consequences of the Affghan War (London: James Maynard, 1842). The report’s reference to the “need for vengeance” most likely refers to the Army of Retribution, dispatched to rescue hostages and relieve besieged garrisons at Jalalabad and Kandahar. The Army burned villages and the bazaar in Kabul, the largest in Afghanistan. Benjamin Hopkins, The Making of Modern Afghanistan, 69.

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Index

‘Advantages of Warring against the Infidels’ (poem), 50 Abbas Ali Khan, 4, 10, 26, 47, 54–55, 58, 60, 118, 146, 150–51, 205, 214, 220, 222, 225 case against Ahmed Sahib, 151–52 interpretive problems, 156–58 Mustapha Ali Khan, 150–51 Nachapalli Narasingha Rao, 147 Rahamatullah, 152–54 lost diamond story, 167–69 response to allegations, 161–64 Abdul Ghunni Khaderi, 155 Abdul Qadr, 201–3, 210 Abdul Wahhab, Muhammad Ibn (1703–1792), 4 Afghan migrants to Deccan, 39–40 Afghan warriors, 16, 25, 40–41, 43, 119 Afghanistan, 3, 6, 25, 29, 31–33, 35–36, 43, 49, 55, 63, 96, 133, 216, 222, 228, 230–31 Ahmad, Mohiuddin, 4, 15–16, 88 Ahmed Sahib, 149–54, 158, 162, 174 Akbar Khan, 35 Alavi, Seema, 12, 20, 29, 37, 86, 185 Arabicism, 42–44 Alif Khan II (r1793–1815), 108–13, 121 favor of youngest son, 111 Allen, Charles, 8 Amin, Shahid, 18 Aminuddin Khan, 55, 152, 163–64, 169–70, 172, 174–75, 221 as corrupt schemer, 168–69 forged Persian letters, 171–73 offices held, 166 resisting bribes, 167 Amir Khan, 40, 54 amulets, 3, 48, 54 Anatolia, 31, 52 Annamasamudram, 60, 148–49, 152, 154 Appadurai, Arjun, 2 Arabicism (See Alavi, Seema)

Arcot, 40, 43, 182, 187–88, 192–93, 214 Army of Retribution, 223 Asaf Jah dynasty, 70 Auckland, Lord (George Eden, 1784–1849), 2, 33–34, 36, 84 Awdry, J.D., 48, 186, 194, 198, 201, 203, 205, 208–10, 212, 222 accusations against, 197 concerns over witness safety, 194–95 procedures of, 193 removed from trial, 196 Baghdad, 3, 37, 47, 49, 133 bai’at, 9, 183 Barakzai, 32, 34 barbarism, 11 Bayly, C.A., 21, 37, 39, 219–21 beat of the drum (declaration by), 210, 212 Beverley, Eric, 39 Bhopal, 6, 40, 52, 54, 61, 103, 105, 109, 118, 142, 148, 157 Black Town, 47, 52 Blane, Thomas Law, 127 Bolarum troops, 71, 77, 81, 83 Bombay, 28, 36–38, 47, 49–50, 52, 54–57, 61, 69, 85–86, 91, 93, 97, 103, 152, 216, 229 Brahmins, at Kurnool, 116 brinjarries, 108 British Resident, 3, 73–74, 77, 129 Burnes, Alexander, 34 byragees, 48 Campbell, A.D., 212 Cassamajor, G.J., 143, 159 Central Asia, 2, 6, 24, 31–32, 34, 37, 39, 63, 67, 142, 148, 153, 216, 230 Chander, Sunil, 41, 69, 74, 104, 154 Chandni Begum, 66, 79–80, 83 Chandra, Uday, 22

235

236

Index

Chandulal, 31, 57, 60, 74, 77–81, 84–85, 102, 104, 120–21, 151, 153, 158 Chaplin, William (Collector at Bellary), 113 Chittoor, 26, 53, 61, 178, 189, 192–94, 196, 198, 201, 209, 212, 214 Chronology of Modern Hyderabad, 68, 73, 82 Circular Orders of the Faujdari Adalat guidelines for confessions, 206 Clerk, Robert, 48 Coaty, David, 10 Colvin, Auckland, 36, 216 Colvin, John Russell, 34 Commission of Enquiry (Hyderabad), 67, 102–3, 121, 125, 220, 222 conclusion regarding Rasul Khan, 124 confederacy, 4, 29, 44, 54, 59, 61, 65–66, 86, 103, 147, 153 connectivity, 38, 41, 109, 165 conspiracy, 8, 21, 63, 70, 84, 86, 107, 115, 118, 129, 145, 149, 151, 154, 158, 166, 171, 180, 216, 220, 222 definition 10, see also Coaty, David Hyderabad as center, 85 imagined v. operational, 65 role of Nizam and Diwan, 153 conspiracy narratives as aspirational, 64 common scenario, 6 initial reactions of Company officials, 61–63 local interests, 8 performativity, 7, 218 plausibility, 30, 63–64 restoration of Mughal rule, 154–55 conspiracy theory, 10 cosmopolitanism, 42 Cubban, Mark, 184 Cuddapah, 40, 47, 61, 108–9, 126, 192 culture of evidence, 212 cutcherry (administrative office), 26, 144, 174, 195 politics of, 165–66 Daftar-i-Diwani, 68, 73, 79, 224 Dalrymple, William, 3, 35, 73 dar al-harb, 21 Datla, Kavita, 72 Daud Khan (first Nawab of Kurnool), 108 Deccan, 3, 6, 10, 17, 20, 22–24, 29, 31, 36–41, 47, 49, 56, 59, 66, 69, 88, 90, 98, 108, 110 armies of, 109–10 interior, 152 linkages to wider Muslim world, 216–17 military labor market, 116 Wahhabis in, 192

detainees, 4, 6, 11, 18, 25, 32, 45, 48–49, 52–53, 57, 60, 64, 69–70, 84, 86, 88, 95, 98–99, 102–3, 105–6, 118, 148, 166–67, 220 Dhumdas, 44, 52, 63–64, 99, 102 documentary evidence, 11, 68, 99, 103, 119, 175, 220 Dost Muhammad Khan, 3, 32, 34, 36, 43, 60, 96, 148, 152–53 droog, 54 durbar, 72, 75, 80, 93 East India Company, 2 Eaton, Richard, 19, 37, 216 Elliot, E.J., 28, 47, 50 Elphinstone, John - Governor of Madras, 3, 31, 45, 48, 53, 63–64, 116, 160, 175, 186, 203, 211 letter to Vellore’s G.M. Stewart, 185 Elphinstone, Mountstuart, 49 emissaries, 3, 31, 33, 36, 45–46, 48, 53, 55, 57, 59, 63, 86, 103, 154, 169, 186, 189, 211 Evangelicals, 11 evidence destruction of letters, 150, 157 war materials, 143 fanatic, 7, 21, 23, 90, 93, 180, 222 faqirs, 46–47, 103, 119, 186, 216, 217 Faqruddin Sahib, 50 farangi (foreigner), 35 fatwa, 15–16 Faujdari Adalat, 31, 179, 182, 189, 194, 209–11, 213, 215 verdict for Modin’s trial, 212–13 fighting cocks (of Rasul Khan), 130 First Anglo-Afghan War (1839–42), 3, 30, 35 First Opium War (1839–42), 35 Fisher, Michael, 52, 101 forged seal of Alif Khan II, 123 forgeries, 24, 53, 58, 64, 149, 152, 171, 221 Fraser, James, 3–4, 31, 44, 50, 63, 67, 84, 86–87, 98, 100, 120, 153, 212, 220–23 account of letter from Rasul Khan to Mubariz ud-Daula, 120–21 freedom fighters, 26, 67, 138 Frey, James, 182 Frykenberg, Robert, 165–66, 207 Gaborieau, Marc, 14–15, 17, 20, 44, 183, 229 Ghous Sahib, 55, 160, 163, 173 Ghulam Rasul Khan (r1824–39), 4, 10 accession to throne, 113–15 and Christianity, 138

237

Index defense of, 132–34 erratic temperment, 128 final standoff with Company army, 134–37 fondness for military display, 132 grievances against, 115–18 imprisonment at Trichinopoly, 137 insanity, 133 intention to proceed to Mecca, 133 mistreatment of women, 117 murder of, 138 seal of, 110 size of arsenal, 131 surrender of Fort, 128 whimsical passions, 220 gifts, diplomatic exchange of, 110–11 Ginzburg, Carlo, 17 global context, 30 global Islam, 20 Golconda Fort, 66, 68, 79, 81–82, 88, 101–2 Gommans, Jos, 39, 41, 192 grammar of gift exchange, 110 Great Game, 2, 24, 32, 44, 216 imperial rivalry in Afghanistan, 32–36 Green, Nile, 37–38, 47, 95, 188 Guha, Ranajit, 8, 18, 182, 222, 229 Hadrami Sayyids, 37 links to the Deccan, 38–39 Haji Abdullah, 52 Haji Ishmael, 89–90, 118, 124 Haji Shaikh Ahmed murderer of Ghulam Rasul Khan, 139 Hardy, Peter, 4, 21–22, 180–81 Herat, 2, 33, 36, 49–50 Hermansen, Marcia, 21, 46 Hickey, William, 138 Hijaz, 4, 32, 90 historiography, 8, 18, 26 Hobhouse, John, 33 Hodgson, Marshall, 32 Hoffer, Eric, 13 honorific titles “nabob” and “bahadur,” 110 Hopkins, Benjamin, 33, 36–37 horse trade, 39, 109, 192 Hudleston, W., 213 Hunter, W.W., 15, 21, 27, 40, 205 Husseini Mah (bearer of seditious letter), 122, 124, 221 Hutton, George, 125 Hyder Sahib, 54, 56, 58, 87, 96–97, 99 Hyderabad, 3, 28–29, 37–38, 40–41, 45–46, 50, 54–56, 62–64, 66, 68, 71, 73–76, 88, 92–94, 98, 108, 124, 149–50

state debts, 75–76 unpaid and disaffected troops, 76–78 Ibrahim Pasha, 32 Ideology, 13, 22, 180, 232 Ilahi Baksh, 101 Imam Khan, 52, 61, 99, 118 inams, 116 Inayat Ali, 40, 88, 217 Indo-Afghan regimes, 40, 44 Indo-Afghans, 37 information, 149 information order 1, 6, 36, 98, 219 (see also Bayly, C.A.) intelligence, 6, 8, 31, 35, 52–53, 84–86, 98, 129, 141, 165, 219–20, 223 Islamophobia, 21 itinerancy, 12, 30, 45, 49 Muslim, 2 itinerant Muslims, 2, 39, 45–46, 48, 63 jagir(s), 77, 108, 130, 142–43, 146, 151–52, 159, 164, 218 jagirdars, 39, 73, 75, 156 Jalal, Ayesha, 14, 16, 44 Jamadars, 75, 77, 135 Jamaluddin, 52 Jeddah, 54, 57 jihad, 2, 4, 8–9, 14–16, 21–24, 29, 35, 40, 43, 50, 62–63, 67, 69–70, 84, 87, 95, 98, 104, 107, 118–19, 142, 178, 180–81, 201, 204, 209, 211–12, 216, 218 jihad poem, 51 Kabul, 3, 34–36, 43, 49, 97, 150, 167, 179 Kalyan, 79, 82 Kamal un-Nissa, 79, 82 Kandahar, 179 khalifas, 9, 36, 40–41, 65, 68–69, 91–92, 97, 99, 104 Khan Alam Khan, 52–53 King of Persia, 6, 44, 49, 52 Kolsky, Elizabeth, 221 Kurnool early interventions, 115 Commission, 127, 131 District, 108, 113–14, 135, 224 Nawabs, history, 108 tributary obligations, 109 Leonard, Karen, 70, 73 letters, 11, 26, 41, 48, 53, 64, 67–68, 83, 87, 91, 98–99, 101, 103, 110, 118–19, 123–24, 135, 147, 149–51, 155, 157–58, 163, 169, 171–72, 176, 220

238

Index

Levi, Scott, 37 Lewin, Malcolm, 1, 26, 143, 179, 182, 194, 198, 205–7, 222 adjourns trial, 198 career of, 205–8 critique of Company’s religious policy, 207 on causes of 1857 Rebellion, 207 practice of torture, 206 liberal imperialism, 2, 22, 26, 108, 173, 176, 179, 181 critiques of state power, 222–23 liberalism, 22, 179, 181 locality theorizing in study of religious conversion, 18 microhistory, 17 Subaltern Studies, 18 Macnaghten, William, 34 Maddock, T.H., 45, 54, 59, 61–62, 64 Madras, 3, 11, 28–29, 31, 38, 40, 44–45, 47–49, 52–54, 56, 59, 66, 89, 94, 98, 108–10, 113, 118, 130, 146, 152, 164, 166, 182–83, 187, 191–93, 198, 205–7, 214, 224–26, 230, 233 Mahdi Ali, 120, 122, 124–25, 141, 149 Malcolm, D.A., 99 Malcolm, Duncan, 125 Mamdani, Mahmud, 22 Manger, Leif, 39 Maulvi Abdul Hadi, 97 Maulvi Hyder, 54, 58, 89–90, 99 Maulvi Mahdi (Udayagiri), 149–50, 154, 157, 174 Maulvi Salim, 78, 86, 88–89, 118, 155 McNeill, John, 33 Mecca, 3, 8, 31, 47, 53, 55–58, 118, 133–35, 169, 184 Mehta, Uday, 23 Metcalf, Barbara Daly, 4, 15, 24, 40, 181, 231 migration, 3, 31, 37–38, 40, 109 Minha Sahib, 79, 81–82 Modin, Sayyid Shah Qadiri (Maulvi Modin), 4, 10, 26, 177–80, 182, 185, 189, 191–94, 197, 202, 210, 221–22 alleged Wahhabi, 189–90 cross-examines witnesses, 197 declines release on bail, 196 detention of, 195 father of (Husrat Shah Abdul Hussein), 193 held no state office, 188 initial accusations against, 189 mother’s testimony, 197 official charge against, 193 seditious book (Ras Nasara), 187–88 testimonies against Buddi ud-Din Khan Sahib, 192

Ihan Khan, 193 Mir Hamid Ali, 190 Mirza Ishmael Beg, 189 Qadr Badshah, 189 testimony of, 203–5 rewards for accusers, 203 social status of accusers, 204 transparency, 204 Mohijuddin Khan, Subadar, 184 Mubariz ud-Daula, 4, 6, 9, 15, 17, 19, 25, 29, 36, 41, 43–45, 51, 54, 59–64, 66–68, 71, 75, 77–78, 86–87, 89, 91–93, 97, 99–100, 102, 104, 106–7, 115, 117, 119, 124–25, 134, 140, 145, 149–51, 153, 155–56, 161, 174, 214, 217–20 becoming a Wahhabi, 86–90 charismatic leadership, 90–93 conversion of, 9 early confrontations with the Nizam, 78–84 seducing the troops, 94–97 sibling conflict, 66 sources of information about, 67–69 Mughal Empire, 14, 38, 42, 70, 112, 228 Muhammad Abdullah, 37, 52, 55–57, 63, 118, 203 Muhammad Ali Pasha, 32, 37, 53, 58, 134 Muhammad Ali Rampuri, 40, 183 Muhammed Ali Jaweed, 88 Muhammed Ibrahim (alias Muhammed Moreed), 53, 61 Muhammed Jaweed, 92 Muhammed Maqdum, 93 Muhammed Shah Qajar, King of Persia (r1834–48), 50 Muhammed Suleiman, 9, 95 mujahidin, 16, 35, 42, 59, 64, 74, 98, 103–4 Munawwar Khan, 110–11, 113–14 death of, 114 Munir ul-Mulk, 73–74, 79–80, 85 murids, 19, 191–94, 196 Muslim loyalty, 21–24, 27, 108, 180, 198, 204, 209, 218 Muzuffar Khan murder of wife, 114 Mysore, 3, 11, 36, 41, 43, 71–73, 75, 108, 165, 182, 184–85, 191–92, 214, 216 myth (of dreaded Wahhabi), 16–17, 30, 146, 218 Nadwi, Faisal Ahmed Bhaktali, 41, 88 namak halal, 23–24, 95, 198, 200, 214, 218 namak haram, 24, 198, 200, 214, 218 Namdar Khan, 125, 127, 130, 133, 135, 137, 147–48 Nasir ud-Daula, Nizam (r1829-57), 9, 28–29, 31, 60, 66, 75, 79, 87, 104, 151, 153, 158, 164 Nasir ud-Din, 36, 89, 91, 98

Index nationalist history, 26, 104, 107 Nawab of Arcot, 47, 146, 183 Nawabs of the Carnatic, 182 Nazarenes, 189–90 Nellore, 26, 29, 31, 41, 48, 50, 52, 54–57, 59, 62, 64, 105, 108, 118, 142, 144, 149, 154, 162, 166, 168, 174, 224–25 Nellore detainees, 52, 61 Dhumdas, 59 Haji Abdullah, 52–53 Muhammad Abdullah, 56 Rahamatullah, 52, 60, 61, 63, 118, 152–54 Ruzzaq, Shaikh Abdul, 56–59 Shaikh Abdullah, 53–56 Nizam of Hyderabad, 4, 9, 28–29, 39, 56, 66, 68, 71–75, 77, 79, 83, 85, 92, 100, 102, 108, 122, 146, 151, 153, 224, 232 Nizam’s army, 72, 76–77, 82, 104 noninterference, 77, 95, 181 Ogilvie, G.M., 188, 193–94 oral testimonies, 18, 118 Osella, Filippo and Caroline, 20 Ottoman Empire, 32 Pan-Islamism, 44 Patna, 16, 22, 40, 88, 98, 142, 148, 180, 232 patronage, 24, 30, 47, 69, 72, 75, 167, 180, 183, 198, 212, 214, 217–18 Pears, J.T., Commanding Engineer account of Kurnool expedition, 128–29 Pearson, Harlan, 4, 15, 90, 232 Penal Code, 1837 draft, 178 Penang, 55 Permanent Settlement, 146 Persia, 6, 28–29, 31, 33, 44, 46, 48–49, 59, 148, 152 Persians, 2, 33–34, 37, 69 Pindaries, 119 Prasad, Rajendra, 67, 90 primogeniture, 112–13 princely states, 3, 6, 31, 59, 71–72, 75, 108, 110, 112, 115, 165 named in conspiracy accounts, 59 printed propaganda, 41 profiling, 24 propaganda, 41, 103 proselytizing, 19, 70, 87, 94, 207 Qajar dynasty, 33 qazi, 20, 93, 115 Qazi Asif, 89, 97, 101 Qazi of Mecca, 57 Qazi of Nellore, 164

239

Rahamatullah (See Nellore detainees) Raman, Bhavani, 11, 166, 220–21 Ramanja Rao trial of, 169–71 Rampuri, Muhammed Ali, 88 Ras Nasara, 26 Rebellion of 1857, 3, 11, 20–22, 24, 26, 36, 42, 63, 66, 82, 180–82, 204, 207, 219 reformist doctrines, 40–41 reformist ideology, 9, 30, 45, 48, 67 regimental maulvis, 95, 195 Ricci, Ronin, 29 Risala Jihad, 93 Rizvi, Saiyid Athar Abbas, 5 Rohilkhand, 37, 39, 109 Rohillas, 76 rumor, 3, 30, 36, 81, 149, 234 Russia, 2, 28–30, 32, 35 Russians, 2, 28, 33–34, 37, 49, 69, 96 Ruzzaq, Shaikh Abdul, 37, 52, 55, 57–59, 64, 89, 97, 101, 118, 155 Sahib Amir, 28–29, 44, 49–50 sati, 11 Sayyid Ahmad Barelvi (1786–1831), 4, 9, 14–17, 20, 25, 32, 35, 37, 40–43, 45, 59, 64–67, 69, 84, 88, 90–93, 98, 104–5, 109, 154, 183, 228 and Sufism, 14 as mahdi, 16 background, 13–17 contact with Arabian Wahhabis, 20 martyrdom, 16 resistance of Afghan clans, 16 Sayyid Haji Ishmael, 89 seals, 58, 64, 91–93, 98 Second Egyptian Crisis’ (1839–41), 32 Secunderabad, 9, 41, 71, 79, 87, 93–97, 119, 155 sedentary society, 39–40, 45–46, 63 seducing the troops, 95 Seeley, A.R., 223 Shah Abdul Aziz, 15–16 fatwa of 1803, 15 Shah Shuja, 3, 35 Shah Wali Khan, 135–36 Shah Waliullah (1703–62), 14 Shaikh Abdullah, 52, 54–55, 57, 59, 154–55, 163–64 Shams ul-Umrah, 73, 77, 79 sharia, 16, 40, 43, 67, 91, 104, 154 shaving the beard, 96, 187 Sherazee, Assadullah, 85 Shorapur, 82 Shujah ud-Din Hussein, 118 Sikander Jah (r1803-1829), 61, 66, 68, 73–75

240

Index

Sindh, 36, 51, 54, 69, 89, 91, 97, 103, 142, 216 Singapore, 55–56, 108, 225–26 Singh, Man (Nawab of Jodhpur), 54, 59 Singh, Ranjit, 3, 16, 33–35, 59, 62, 74 Singha, Radhika, 46 Sleeman, William Henry, 12 Smollet, Patrick Boyle, 143 social status, 23, 181, 199–200, 203, 214 Special Court, 26, 181, 189, 194–95, 208, 222 procedures of, 194 witnesses for defense Khatib Shah Muhammed, 201 cross-examined by Modin, 202 witnesses for prosecution Chandkhan, 200–1 meaning of namak halal, 200 Mir Hamid Ali, 198–200 cross-examined by Modin, 199 cross-examined by mufti, 200 Sayyid Ali, 201 spiritual capital, 90 Steel, Scudamore, 127 Stephens, Julie, 7, 21, 180 Stewart, G.M., 77, 84, 184–85, 210, 229 concerns over witness tampering, 195 criticism of Lewin, 195 supports Awdry, 195 Stonhouse, T.V. (Timothy Vansittart), 26, 31, 45, 48, 50–51, 54, 61, 63, 87, 99, 102, 143, 148, 154, 164, 167–68, 221 favor extended to Aminuddin, 171 Subsidiary Alliance (Treaty of, 1798), 9, 25, 71, 75, 109 Subsidiary Force, 25, 71, 74–75, 77, 80–81, 94, 97, 104 succession of Alif Khan II, 110 Sufism, 14–15, 20, 229 suspicious foreigners, 3, 26, 45, 48, 143, 159, 203 ta’wiz (amulet), 120–21, 123–24, 141 tajdid, 13–14 Tariqah-i-Muhammadiyah, 4, 9, 13, 19, 25, 37, 41–42, 69, 87, 107 expanse of network, 5 ties to Deccan, 40–41 tauhid (the unity of God), 42 Taylor, Philip Meadows, 12, 68, 82–83 background, 81 testimonies translation of, 195 thuggee, 12, 46 thugs, 12, 46, 48, 216 Tipu Sultan, 11, 112, 182, 189, 214, 227 Tonk, 6, 40, 43, 68–69, 91, 97, 103, 105, 109, 142, 148

torture, 26, 64, 143, 179, 205–6 transnational networks, 2, 30 treasury at Golconda Fort, 81, 83 Triplicane, 47, 52, 54, 221 Tsing, Anna, 18 Udayagiri from hereditary to life grant, 146–47 Hill Fort, 149 history of, 146 ulama, 4, 14–15, 90, 183 Vartavarian, Mesrob, 42, 75 Vellore, 4, 10, 26, 48, 64, 178, 182, 185, 189–94, 197, 200, 203, 208–10, 214, 218, 228 Vellore Fort, 188 Vellore Mutiny (1806), 11, 94, 182, 190 Vitkevich, Ivan, 35 wa’z (sermon or exhortation), 178, 186, 189–90, 193, 197, 201, 208, 211–12, 215 content of, 189 Wagner, Kim, 12, 31, 46 Wahhabi, 30 Arabian, 14, 20 as pejorative label, 20, 185 influence in Mysore, 184–85 myth of, 142 Wahhabi conspiracy, 4, 6, 8, 26, 30–31, 43–44, 52–53, 65–66, 69–70, 73, 84, 102, 105, 107, 109, 115, 119, 121, 126–28, 142, 144, 149, 164, 179, 181, 219 Wahhabi mosques, 97 Wahhabi trials, 7, 22, 179–80 Wahhabis Arabian, 4 as pejorative label, 5 axes of influence/discontentment with Company rule, 213 compared and contrasted with thugs, 12 Wallerstein, Immanuel, 19 weapons inspections Kurnool, 126–28 Udayagiri, 159 Wilayat Ali, 40, 87–89, 98, 217 witness tampering, 196, 198 Wood, Peter, 72, 75–76 Yathim Ali Shah, 47 Yemen, 20, 37–38 Yusafzai tribesmen, 39 Zorapur, 128, 132, 134